


What Makes Us Human?

by AutobotNightStrider, weeniesama



Series: Humanity [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gallows Humor, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hunk Whump, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith whump, Lance whump, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mentions of Rape, NSFW, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sickness, Uncle Coran (Voltron), Vomiting, Whump, Zombie AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, mentions of sexual abuse, shiro whump, undead au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-02-08 16:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 144,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutobotNightStrider/pseuds/AutobotNightStrider, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeniesama/pseuds/weeniesama
Summary: What makes us human? Is it our ability to share experiences with others? Our ability to empathize? Is it our skill and ability with tools and craftsmanship? Do our towering cities and advanced knowledge of machinery and technology make us human? Is it our knowledge, our vast control of our emotions? Is it our kindness? Our empathy to those in pain?Are humans really all that different from the starving shells shambling for sustenance now populating the world?He wasn't really sure of the true answer to that question, or any of those questions. There was exactly two things he knew for sure.The first being that keeping a population of humans alive in a world of slathering zombies and toughened human hearts was easier said than done when everything about what he was conflicted with the very essence of being around his friends and family.The second? The second was that being a zombie really, really sucked.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strider Notes: Welcome to the next of many fics I've gotten my ass involved with. This one isn't with my bestie though, surprise surprise! This is with my new friend, and the both of us are slowly working on this, so this will definitely be a slow update fic. The current schedule is set for once every two weeks roughly, though IRL may make it earlier or later depending on our schedules.
> 
> Anyway! WMUH Starts off with a bang! I hope ya'll like our rather fast paced beginning.
> 
> Weenie Notes: Sup?
> 
> Ditto to what Strider said; Enjoy. Also, comments and kudos help build the sacrificial pyre. >:3

Gunfire sounded above his head, in loud spurts with the occasional silence as people shifted positions. From time to time, a scream rang out, cut out with a gurgle of blood as someone died. Lance, Hunk knew, was good with his sniper rifle. It had taken them quite the excursion to get it- but it wasn’t a commonly used weapon, so bullets for it had been plentiful.

Under the pop-crack of the sniper rifle, there was the quick, rapid shots of Keith’s handguns. Close quarters, he preferred his katana- but he wasn’t a bad shot with his handguns either. Allura’s assault rifle nearly drowned out the sound of the rapid fire handguns, however.

The boom of a home made explosive going off made Hunk snort on a laugh as he crept down the stairs, the bag of weapons on his back making a faint noise that the boom drowned out. Coran had a knack for making dynamite- which was not really all that surprising giving the wily Irishman's personality. Explosives and alcohol made molotov cocktails- Coran was an expert at them.

Honestly, so was Matt- but Matt was a jack of all trades, master of many. If not for the fact that they needed all hands up top to keep Zarkon’s assholes out of the way, he’d have no doubt been right down there with Hunk trying to get the people out.

He shifted down, into the bowels of the hellish place, and he could hear the moaning groans of the undead pushing against the walls. He could smell their feted stink, the smell of spoiled meat souring on his tongue and burning his nose. Above that though, he could smell the sweet smell of living meat, soured by the smell of fear and pain and sickness and the stench of filth- but the sweetness was still there.

He tracked the most familiar scent- and found himself in a room layered in long, long rows of cages. The cages were hardly big enough to house a big dog- but he could see people bunched up inside, scrunched and cowering and stacked on top of each other, wallowing in their filth and the filth of others.

Some of them were dead- decomposing where they lay. Some of the corpses… Well, they’d be turning soon. His nose could smell the infection in them, growing, awakening their bodies.

Hunk stepped further into the room, and a call of alarm and fear went through the people. He ignored them for a moment, his honey-amber eyes searching for the one who had prompted this whole escapade in the first place.

Ah, there she was.

“Hey there, short stack.” Hunk crouched down in front of Pidge’s cage, and gave her a cheeky grin. She was covered in bruises, and it looked like someone had choked her- but she didn’t look like her spirits had been dampened. He could patch her up when they were safe. “Looks like someone learned their lesson about trying to steal batteries from an already claimed territory, hm?”

“Yeah well, I shoved the batteries up some dude’s ass, so I’m not getting those back. Though, you guys came for me, didn’t you? Sounds like a win in my book.” She groused, voice raspy and raw from the bruise around her throat. “Get me out of here, Hunk. And these people too. They don’t deserve this- this _shit hole_.”

“I will.” Hunk nodded. He lifted his hand to the lock, studying them with careful eyes. He made a soft noise, and swung his pack off his shoulders, settling it onto the ground with a heavy thunk.

“Please tell me all the guns in there have the safety on before you went and started clunking those around.” She leered at him, squinting. She was missing her glasses.

“They do, Pidge, Jesus, I’m not stupid.” Hunk rolled his eyes, and rooted around for his bolt cutters. Snaring them quickly, he extracted the heavy duty wire cutters, and set them on the lock proper. A quick flex of his muscles had the lock snapping off with a heavy clunk.

Pidge stumbled out into his arms, a tiny groan leaving her as she buried her face into his chest.

He ran his fingers over her hair, making a soft concerned noise in the back of his throat. He cradled her in one arm, and fetched one of her many spare glasses from his bag, passing them to her as she slowly leaned back. “You look like hell… Are you okay to get yourself and the rest of these folks out while I keep opening cages?”

Pidge leaned back from his chest, and adjusted her glasses on her face. “Now that I can see, yeah. Did you bring big green?”

“I did.” He smiled, ruffling her dirtied hair, and extracting her favorite gun. He also pulled out her green ribbon, and tied it around her bicep. It matched the extremely faded orange headband he wore- it was more yellow than orange now, after all the times he’d had to wash it clean of blood. “Here. The extras in here are for arming those who will fight. You’re in charge of making sure they know not to shoot everyone wearing our colors, yeah?”

“Right.” She nodded. She paused, and looked up at him. She squinted, and reached up to pat his cheek. “Thank you for finding me, Hunk. Also, your eyes are really dark.”

“You know what dark lighting does to my complexion,” Hunk complained, and ruffled her hair petulantly. He knew his eyes were dark- the circles under them deeper and more pronounced. They always were when he needed to eat.

He hefted up the bolt cutters, and left her to prepare guns and receive the people coming out. He didn’t know how long they’d have before some of the guards came, and he needed to get as many free as possible. There were so many people, so many cages, so many ages. Adults, elderly people, fucking _children_.

The children made his chest burn with something that was most definitely rage. They were younger than Pidge had been when he’d met her- and the fire in his body burned away the perpetual chill he always felt.

Zarkon was a _monster_. A man who would do this to people- to _children_ \- and make them fight zombies, make them sit in cages, allow his men to… To do _things,_ horrible, horrible vile things to some of them. Zarkon was a monster, and he didn’t regret his team taking on the challenge of removing him from their world.

He watched a little boy flinch away from him, crossing his legs and hiding his arms, and felt that feeling drive home more. A boy didn’t flinch and hide himself like that for no reason.

“P-please don’t-”

“Shh...” He soothed gently. “Not gonna hurt ya, kiddo. We’re gonna get you out of here, m’kay?” He got the lock off, and the doors open. Hunk held his hands out to him, open and welcoming. Not demanding. “Can I help you down?”

“… Yeah...” Slowly, two bony hands reached out and took Hunk’s massive fingers. The boy flinched. “You’re cold.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Hunk tipped his head. “It’s a bit cold outside, and I was outside for a while.” The excuse came easy. “We’ll both get warmed up in a little bit though, okay?” He easily lifted the boy out of the cage, and let him get his feet under him. The fact that the people could stand let him know they were all out of the cages frequently, for which some part of him was thankful, and some part of him was horrified over. “Okay. Do you see the short girl in glasses down there? The one with the green ribbon on her arm?”

“Green?” The boy squinted. “It’s gray, mister.”

Colorblind. Wasn’t the kids fault, but it was just their luck that they’d run across someone who couldn’t differentiate the bright colored bands that they wore on their bodies to mark their colors. That would make things harder, but kids were smart. Hunk loathed the thought of the kid having to shoot, but they’d need every available gun out there. Hunk gave a soft laugh, and ruffled his filthy hair. “That’s okay. The fact that you see the band is good enough for me. Go to her, okay? She’ll get you set up.”

“Okay...” He nodded, and wobbled off down the row of cages back for Pidge.

Hunk headed off down the way, his view on Zarkon solidified, and the justification of the psychopath's death burning hard in his mind. He continued opening cage after cage, freeing frightened person after frightened person. Some he had to help walk down to Pidge, some he carried- but all of them made it to Pidge, where they were gathering, mustering, getting ready to storm upstairs and join in the fray.

A very curious young woman seemed to shift at the way Hunk spoke to Pidge. Her thin fingers curling around the wires of her cage as she peered through the bars, watching. And at the sight of bolt cutters and weapons, she gasped, unable to help it. _Understanding_. Her chocolate eyes suddenly filling with tears and spilling over her cheeks despite how dehydrated she was, and how desperately her body needed the water.

"You're--" She whispered when Hunk got to her cage. So relieved. So _desperate._ In complete and utter awe. And as he helped her down, her healing body so fragile and worn, tattered clothes hanging off her body like over sized sheets, she trembled. "Thank you."

Others, like her, were relieved. The newer prisoners, with color still in their cheeks, and strength still remaining in their body. People who had been sentenced to exile, or people who had just been found in the wrong place and at the wrong time- they still had hope alight in their gazes as they made it Pidge.

The older prisoners were different. It was clear, in their eyes, that freedom hadn't been an option. As Hunk opened the cages and helped them down, they stared in absolutely disbelief, like it was a dream; as if they truly believed that the only escape from this hellish kennel and Zarkon's cruelty had been death by starvation or death in the pit.

Some of them stared at Pidge that way too. As if she was just an hallucination brought on by the horror as they're mind began to crack, and would soon fade and they would be left where they had always been.

“Hunk,” Pidge grabbed his hand as Hunk went to go back and check the last of the cages, “Hunk. I’m going to take this group up. If there’s anyone else, get them armed, and bring them up, okay?”

Hunk grunted. “Alright.” He paused, and leaned back over to give Pidge a quick hug. The hug lingered, worry and anxiety tightening his arms. “Be careful please.” He pleaded gently. “I can’t protect you guys while I’m down here.”

His friends were so fragile it seemed. They got hurt so easy, and they drew such chaos to themselves- he always worried for them. They were his friends, his team, his… His _family_ now. He had to take care of them, keep them alive and healthy for as long as he possibly could.

“I’m always careful, you big worrywart.” She pushed at his chest. “It’s Lance and Keith you have to worry about.”

“Don’t I know it.” He groaned, but loosened his arms around her. His gaze followed her as she squirmed away from him, hefting her rifle up to her shoulders and cocking the green camouflage. “If you see them, tell them to behave please.”

“I’ll try.” She gave him a cheeky salute, and glanced at the shaky people staring at her with firm resolve. “Alright, folks. Lets go give them hell for all of the pain they put you in, eh? Get you all out and free and in the fresh air again.”

And yet, despite how new or old, how young or aged, they rallied. Following Pidge as she ordered them up the stairs. Freedom seemed to be a good motivator. Reigniting the spirits that had been dying out or breathing fuel into the flames of those whose spirits were still burning so bright. Pushing them all to find the inner reserve of strength to fight.

Hunk watched as she took the group up, and turned his back, hefting the abandoned pack up onto his back. They carried their wounded up with them- no one alive was left behind.

A deep, unnecessary but entirely habitual breath left him, and Hunk headed back down the rows of cages.

The hungry growls of the undead echoed louder without people to block the noise- and he looked at the cages that he’d left locked, the ones housing the dead. His stomach clenched, the nauseating hunger making his mouth water at the thought of all of that wasted flesh.

But he would not feed on the victims of… of torture. It would dishonor their death. And he had no wounds- no _need_ to feed on them. No, his source of nutrition was moaning back in their cages in another part of the compound.

Hunk strode down the rows of cages, composing himself as he inhaled, searching for more lives.

There… weren’t any that he could see. Had he got them all? He could smell someone, but it might be a fresh corpse- Oh. No, no, there was someone else.

The man in the cage should never have been crammed in there. His body too big, too broad, too strong. He was only a little smaller than Hunk himself. And, Hunk thought, if he were actually healthy, he’d be even stronger looking. The man was under weight, just like all of the long time prisoners were.

His hair was long and scraggly- he’d been here for a while, even if the mess of human waste below the cage hadn’t been any indicator. Below greasy bangs, Hunk could see a pair of dark silver eyes glittering at him almost reflectively, and something that might have been a nasty wound across his face. It looked like a scar across his nose now.

Hunk moved to his cage, cutting it open easily. He tucked the bolt cutters back into his pack, and tugged open the door, a soothing smile pulling up the dark skin of his face. “Hey there,” He called softly, deep voice tilted to a soothing tone. “Lets get you out of here, yeah?”

* * *

 

None of those eyes that Hunk had seen burned like the cold steel of the man staring back at him from the back of the cage. They stayed shadowed and carefully blank as he stayed perfectly still, crouched against the back of his cage with his hands tucked and hidden in his lap. His greasy hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead.

It was always their biggest mistake; underestimating him.

It was a plan that he had come up with over time once he had noticed the small break in his cage. He would act docile; act tame. While they thought he was broken, he would work on pulling the wire apart no matter how many times it cut and hurt his hands. He just had to play weak and broken until he could get a weapon. Then; escape. Escape or die trying.

And this was it. His blood was suddenly on fire, heart rate fluttering as he watched the bolt cutters slice the lock open. Anxiety tightening in his gut and forcing him to take in a deep breath of waste sour air.

The man moved fast, spotting an opportunity as soon as the wired cage door was plucked open. Surging forth in an explosion of force and with a shout that was almost inhuman; a primal snarl coming from the depths of his frightened and broken soul.

The man didn't see a kind smile. He saw a mocking one. A cruel one. He didn't hear kind words. He heard fake promises and manipulation.

It was surprisingly easy. Most of Zarkon's men knew to be careful around him. The prisoner didn't waste time on it though. It would only be moments before others were here. He needed to go. So the malnourished man started to shift. Adrenaline wild in his veins, burning his blood. His eyes shooting for the stairs illuminated by lights, seeking freedom with his heart pounding and ringing in his ears.

What Hunk absolutely did _not_ expect, however, was the explosive movement from the man. He lurched out of the cage with a beastly snarl, hands propelling him right out and into Hunk’s face, and Hunk couldn’t get out of the way before a glinting piece of metal- a broken piece of the cage, he realized- was slid into his neck.

The snarling man landed in his arms, and Hunk gurgled around the bar shoved in his throat. Hunk couldn’t help but think, ‘ _How fucking rude, I just got this shirt,’_ as the man above him snarled and yanked the thick wire out.

For a second, Hunk contemplated dropping and playing dead. After all, that’s what a normal human would do. But, this guy clearly had screws loose- who the fuck just stabs their rescuer? Like seriously, who? Hunk didn’t want this whackadoodle getting loose and running rampant up top. God only knows, Keith would knuckle up with him, and then Keith would get hurt, and then Lance would bitch about Keith getting hurt, and it would be one long mess that Hunk really didn’t want to deal with.

So, mister crazy was going to have to deal with Hunk not falling over dead.

Hunk’s fists flew up to catch his wrists, and he tightened his grip once he had it, struggling to keep the man at arm’s reach without tightening his hands too tightly and hurting him. “Hey.” He rasped, knowing that god, he sounded like a nightmare and now he was talking with his throat punctured and leaking the nasty dark nearly tar like liquid that was inside his body. At least his vocal chords hadn’t been hit- he’d have been pretty fucked if that had happened.

So close. So, _so_ close. The man didn't have a plan, just to run. If he could get up the stairs then maybe, just maybe-

The tight grip around his wrists stopped him like a leash. Tugging him back.

Silver eyes shot back down, and fury become terror. _Unadulterated horror._ Zeroing in on the dark sludge seeping from the wound and staining the collar of Hunk's shirt. His breath hitching, body going so cold it felt like he had been dropped into a frozen lake, his chest tight and unable to breathe.

He... he couldn't be... He should be bleeding out. The guard should be _dead_.

He _was_ dead.

Hands caked with fresh and old blood were tight around the metal wire in his damaged hands, clutching the makeshift weapon so tight his knuckles were pale. And it was as if Hunk had a wild animal trapped against him. The prisoner wasn't listening. Only frantically scrambling for ground. Yanking back roughly to try and escape that hold. Kneeing and kicking and tugging and pulling.

The carnal sound of fear that escaped him involuntarily was so visceral. So _wounded_.

The sound tugged at Hunk’s heart, and boy, if that wasn’t something else to see entirely.

“Hey.” He tried again, gurgling a little and swallowing down his own liquids to make his speaking clearer. “Come on now, I’m not hurting you. You didn’t have to stab me. Come on- deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Let go of the rod- come on. We’re going to get you out, okay? You can meet my group, get some food in you, we’ll find you a safe spot to wash up. Maybe even get Keith to cut your hair for you, eh? Keith’s good with knives and swords and anything sharp and pointy. He’s the group barber.”

"Hunk?"

It was Allura. Her soft voice concerned as she stepped down the stairs, gun held cautiously against her chest. Pink ribbon in her long platinum blond hair keeping it tight against her head. "You still down here?"

The fighting was still going on upstairs, but the shots had lessened. Zarkon's men had all but been eradicated with the surge of prisoners fighting back. Some were turning tail and running like cowards. Other's putting up a last stand only to be outnumbered.

"We have to go," she said, blue eyes squinting in the dim lights. "Zarkon's locked himself in one of the higher rooms. Keith and Lance are about to do something so irresponsibly reckless. We need you to-"

The instant she saw the struggling silhouettes further down, she gasped and started to jog down the dark hall. She threw her gun over her shoulder as soon as she was close, the strap cradling it to her back and her hands gripping at the bony wrist underneath Hunk's hand. Her other grasped the onyx colored end of the wire covered in Hunk's blood, and with a grunt of effort, she slid it out of the prisoners grasp.

Cerulean eyes dropped down to the wire in her hand. Watching the onyx drip off the end it large clumps. And the cruel reality of what it was settled deep into her bones. Breaking her heart while simultaneously her chest began to burn, anger bringing a slight layer of moisture to her eyes as they flipped back up to the prisoner, and then the cage behind him.

It was one thing to see the prisoners as they followed Pidge out into the battle. To see the prisoners who were too injured being brought out to the bus commandeered by Keith outside. Allura knew they had suffered, saw their trauma, and yet, to be here... To smell and really see…

"God," she whispered.

The wire was tossed away, clattering across the concrete ground. And she raised her fingers to her face. Wiping away tears with hands that shook. Sucking in a deep breath, to steady herself.

The man might have been able to over power her if he was well fed. But he wasn't. And now that he was out numbered, he stopped fighting, chest heaving violently. Fists clenched. Bangs covering his face.

It was almost a relief when the man stopped struggling. Hunk didn’t have any trouble holding him, but he no longer felt muscle strain or tension- aches and pains from day to day activities that bothered his friends didn’t plague him anymore. His throat, however, now that was a slice of agony that he would never get used to. His nerve endings still worked just fine.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why the man was so terrified though. Hunk had seen his eyes settle on his neck, on the fact that Hunk’s body was still standing even though his jugular had been sliced. Hunk was very, very clearly not among the living, and this guy seemed absolutely petrified of him.

He felt horrible for him- but he couldn’t let him hurt others.

Hunk didn’t let go of the guy’s hands, his fingers holding on like icy manacles even as his honey-amber eyes slid over to Allura. “He’s terrified.” He gurgled to her, voice like something out of the horror flicks Pidge had used to like. Until zombies had become _real_ , that was. “Lance and Keith are doing something stupid?”

Of course- of fucking course they would. He had no idea what hair brained scheme they had thought up, but of course they’d go charging in. That was how Hunk ended torn up ninety percent of the time, trying to keep the two of them from doing something so stupid to get themselves killed. The two of them could get ridiculously competitive at times- which was a horrible thing to be in a time when more than half of the world’s population wanted to eat your flesh.

However, this wasn’t just simply running into a store for supplies without checking to make sure it was clear. This wasn’t running down the street like a bunch of screaming chickens to draw a horde away from their hiding place. This was Zarkon- an absolute sociopath who wouldn’t have any qualms about murdering the hell out of two lanky twenty something year-olds.

He shifted, the creak of his joints barely audible under the man’s heavy breathing. “Okay. I gotta go stop those idiots from getting themselves killed by Zarkon. I think you can handle him- maybe talk him down, soothe him. He’s… Kinda wild, but you’re _good_ with wild things.”

Allura had a knack with animals. When he’d met her, she’d had three trained mice- and they’d been the cutest things he’d ever seen. Of course, the apocalypse happened, but Allura was still good at coaxing stray dogs and cats not to harass them.

“Mister stabby? Guy?” Hunk paused. Hell, he didn’t know this guy’s name, and he really didn’t want to just give him some nickname. That would be rude. Right up there with _stabbing_ your rescuer in the damn _throat_. “Whatever your name is- this is Allura. She’s super nice. I’m going to let you go, okay? If you try and stab me- or _her_ \- she’s _probably_ going to kick you in the family jewels. She’s nice, but she doesn’t take shit. Be good for her, alright?” His hands loosened- an offer for him to take his hands back, to behave. Never-mind the fact that the guy's stabbing tool had been taken from him- there was no telling how many he had on him and Hunk was taking no chances.

There was some alarm on her face at the sound of Hunk's voice. Her gaze flickering to him. But, he directed her attention back to the prisoner with a simple phrase. And now that it was spoken, it seemed so obvious. The sounds of his loud and shaky breath and the way he was trembling giving his terror away.

Her brows furrowed, and her eyes softened. Empathetic and kind.

"They're upstairs trying to break in to one of the rooms," she confirmed. There was a certain tone of exasperation in her tone. "Pidge and I are trying to convince them to wait for you, but I'm afraid they're not listening to us." Her eyes never left the prisoner. She knew this fear intimately. And her heart went out to him. "I can try," she promised.

There was no movement as Hunk turned to the other. No indication at all that he was listening. Allura shared a glance with the other, hesitant but nodded her head. They should probably calm him first, but they didn't have the time for it. Hunk needed to be upstairs now.

The instant Hunk loosened his grip, however, the prisoner reacted so sharply that Allura reached for her gun. He yanked back like he had been burned. Curling his bloody hands up against his chest. Back smacking into the cages behind him in his haste to get away.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay..." Allura immediately soothed, feeling bad for reaching for her gun. "We're not here to hurt you, I promise…"

The prisoner kept his head down, and Allura bit her lip. She couldn't tell when he didn't look up at her, but she had to hope he was hearing her. "I'm going to get you out of here," she spoke. Her voice as soft and non threatening as she could manage. "It's going to be alright."

Her hands raised, and she took a slow step. Showing her palms in a show of trust and promise. "Go, Hunk," she murmured to him, never taking her eyes off the panicking man before her. "I'll be fine." And she was determined to help. Her eyes burning with the want to get close and save this broken man.

Hunk could hear her still when he finally did go. Talking as if she was speaking to a frightened child. "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

He wouldn't have heard the answer. Not as he walked out of the silent and dim dungeon and up the stairs. Escaping what felt like a morgue and emerging into life again.

It wasn't hard to find Lance and Keith. Even with gunshots or without Hunk's new found senses, their voices would have been loud enough to follow for miles.

"Damn it!" Keith cursed. "Lance!"

The red band around his wrist flapped wildly as he shoved at the darker skinned man, shoulders tight and a vein almost bulging in his neck. Dark blue eyes blazing so hot they almost looked violet, contrasting tightly with the bright color of his gritted teeth visible through the snarl of his lips. His knuckles were closed tight around his hand gun.

"I told you to stay back!" He snapped. "I almost fucking shot you!"

And soon as the words left his mouth, the wood began to splinter. A rifle was firing from inside the room, exploding out of the wall and door. Keith cursed and immediately ducked his head, hand reaching out to grasp Lance's shirt and tug him with him as he quickly made a bid to escape.

He dove for the entrance to the hall, running around the corner and then plastering his back to the wall. He let go of Lance's shirt with a shove, chest heaving and rumbling with a growl as he peeked around the corner.

Of course the bastard would stash weapons away in his rooms. Keith lightly threw his fist against the wall beside him, frustrated. "Damn it!" And then that anger whirled on the other. "Two minutes, Lance. That was all I asked!"

The firing stopped, leaving the hall in eerie quiet. Dust and wood shaving settling. Keith peeked around the corner again. Pulling the gun in front of him and gripping with both hands.

"This time follow my lead," He hissed.

“Well fucking excuse me for trying to get a shot through the goddamn door window!” Lance snapped at him, one hand clutching at the graze on his bicep. Blood bubbled up lazily, hot and tangy, and it stuck his shirt to his skin as he staunched it with dirtied gloves. Hunk would have an absolute shit fit to find out Lance got grazed- _again_.

If it wasn’t Lance, then it was Keith. Between the both of them, Hunk- their probably overworked field medic- was constantly patching them up for something or another. Grazes, cuts, splinters, barked knuckles- anything and everything.

Coran called them the chaotic duo for a reason.

“If you hadn’t have hissed at me, he wouldn’t have seen me!” Lance hissed at him, tilting his head up to peek around the corner of the hall again.

The door was still standing, but it was pocked with splintered holes, as was the wall around it. The problem was, neither of them had the body type to down the door- and Lance was fairly certain it was locked anyway. What kind of whack job villain wouldn’t lock their door when they fled back to their room?

A bad one, that’s who.

The sound of feet approaching quickly behind him had Lance whirling, raising his rifle with one hand. He might not be able to pull off a head shot, but Lance’s rifle would still drop an asshole at close distance.

Whatever retort Keith was about to say, it died in his throat at the sound of thundering foot falls. Like Lance, he immediately raised his gun. Unlike Lance, he wasn't shot. And his gun was aimed higher. Ready to rip through the throat of whatever asshole was about to try and play back up for Zarkon.

However, it wasn’t an asshole that whirled around the hall. It was Hunk- who’d had his throat ripped up something bad.

The second Keith saw the familiar yellow band, his brows arched high, almost disappearing into his hair line as he dropped the hand gun immediately.

Concern flooded Lance’s eyes at the same time that Hunk’s honey-gaze found his bloodied arm, and concern flooded the big man.

“Jesus you two,” Hunk gargled at them, and god if it wasn’t an awful noise. Hunk had a voice like smooth warm caramel, deep and soothing and so, so warm sounding. That just sounded like he’d been put through a bad fire. “Allura sent me up hoping to stop you, and you’ve already gotten yourselves into a mess. The hell are you two doing? I heard the gunshots- are you hit anywhere _else_ , either of you?”

Keith started initially at the sound of Hunk’s voice- his voice gurgling and strained like he was talking underwater- and then he spotted the ripped throat, and actually took notice that it wasn’t dirt, but dark blood ruining Hunk's shirt. "Holy shit..." Keith muttered.

“Arm, that’s all. It’s a graze- nothing deep. I can hold until we’re all safe and done.” Lance wiggled his arm and winced. “What happened to you? You look like Keith went Rambo on your throat.”

“Poor guy with some severe PTSD. Probably thought I was a guard, I dunno. Just about shit himself when I didn’t die, but what’s new there, am I right?” Hunk grunted, rolling his eyes. His black blood had soaked the front of his shirt- which was a happy yellow to match his personality. Now it was just a sad, blackish brown color.

Keith frowned at Lance, but he didn't say anything before turning his eyes back down the hall and watching for movement as he listened to the other two. And he made a soft grunt in acknowledgment to Hunk’s comment about the prisoner.

Couldn't blame the prisoner, whoever he was. Being locked up in this sicko's play dungeon had probably scrambled with his head a little bit. And Keith had just about shit a brick when he found out about Hunk too. Poor guy…

“Keith? Y’ hit anywhere?” He rasped, eyes landing on him as he moved to join the duo by the wall. He couldn’t really treat either of them here- he didn’t have his medical kit- but the back of his shirt was still clean and could make an emergency bandage if the bleeding was bad enough. “Asshole ain’t goin’ nowhere. It’s a thirty foot drop out those windows in his room, and I can track him if he somehow survives the drop.”

At the sound of his name, Keith looked up, and slowly his smile began to soften. There were a few bruises from a guy who had gotten a cheap shot, and there were some cuts from the splintering wood, but for the most part, he was fine. Relatively speaking, even the slight graze on Lance's arm was rather tame. "I'm fine," He replied.

Lance let Hunk focus on Keith, and peeked around the corner with a hum. He wondered idly if Hunk could break the door- but it’d be a big risk. All it would take is one bullet to the head… But, Zarkon was aiming low, for the torso, not the head, if all of those bullet sprays had any indication. Maybe… Just maybe…

Keith followed Lance's gaze. Eyes sweeping over the line of bullets across the wall and door, wheels turning in his head and focus going right back to the fight.

Hunk could barge the door open. Keith didn't think it was worth the risk. Zarkon's shooting was erratic and panicked. And all it would take is one accidental bullet in the head…

"He's trapped, and he knows it," Keith muttered. And desperate people did desperate things. "We need to get in there, but we don't even know what there is."

Hunk was right. There was no where for him to go, but Zarkon wasn't stupid. He picked this room for a reason. And Keith furrowed his brows and grit his teeth. He had a feeling this was exactly what Zarkon wanted. That they were playing into his hands. And he hated it.

They needed a plan. And in order to do that they needed to know Zarkon's next move. Unfortunately, Keith wasn't good at this. At strategy and patience.

For a brief moment, his thoughts reminded him of someone. A split second, and a flash of a smile in the back of his mind, before Keith shook it away. It had been years since he lost him, and yet, he still…

Keith suddenly looked over at Lance. "Did you see anything in his room when you were looking through that tiny window? Any weapons?" Maybe it was an armory. Maybe Zarkon was thinking of putting up a last stand and seeing who ran out of bullets first?

Lance exhaled sharply as he looked at Keith. He startled a little at the sound of cloth ripping, but it was just Hunk, who had turned his shirt around to tear off a strip of clean fabric. Wordlessly, Lance held his arm out. Superficial wound or not, if it got too dirty, they didn’t really have all the high tech medicines.

The ripping sound in the tense silence of their stand off startled Keith too. His eyes broke contact with Lance to see Hunk gently covering the slowly seeping wound on Lance's arm. Figures... Hunk was always considering and taking care of them. Keith was honestly surprised that he hadn't done it the second Hunk had laid eyes on the superficial wound.

Hunk settled in to binding the graze, grumbling low under his breath.

“I saw a loop of chains on the floor leading to a closet.” Lance recalled, thinking. He’d been taught to take everything in at once, retain as much details as he could- it came in handy when he had to duck and shoot. “Four post queen sized bed, purple satin curtains. Wall full of guns, no clips in them. Large work bench along one wall- looked like a process for making bullets. Something to forge the tips and to load them into empty cartridges.”

Turning back to Lance, Keith nodded, listening to what he had to say. Keith would never say this out loud, but Lance's ability to memorize a lay out to the exact detail was not only astonishing, but incredibly useful. It would go straight to the idiots head, and Keith didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

“Reloading press.” Hunk croaked a breathy sound, eyes glinting suddenly with desire to have that machine as he paused in tying the knot around the cloth wrapped around Lance’s bicep. That would make their lives _infinitely_ easier. Some of their guns used specific ammo, and it was so hard to keep the damn shit stocked up. And empty casings were literally everywhere in the apocalypse. “And tools for bullet casting. When he’s dead, I _want_ them.” Hunk had long, _long_ nights. He could spend hours making bullets for everyone.

Well- once he learned and got supplies. He knew the basics- his grandfather had made his own bullets, but it had been a long time since Hunk had helped him. He knew he needed priming powder and gunpowder, and of course, the tips to reload. But maybe someone else at Altea knew more than he did and he could learn from them?

“You can have them, mister machine master.” Lance rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny his best friend something to entertain himself. Hunk did a lot for them and asked for very little comparatively- if Hunk wanted to spend his hours at night forging bullets, then Lance wasn’t going to deny him that.

Keith blinked at Hunk's interjection, but the look on his friends face twisted his concentration into a mix of amusement and confusion. He had no idea _what_ that was, but if Hunk wanted it, then he agreed with Lance. Besides, once Zarkon was gone, he'd have no use for it.

“Where was I? Right. Bullet making stuff. Zarkon was by a dresser, mumbling to himself. Had guns there, was pulling ammo out of drawers. He’s got a lot in there. I think he’s been making it himself, but I didn’t see much more before you made him see me.”

Lance continued, and the fire in Keith's blood grew hotter. Basically, Lance confirmed exactly what Keith feared. And he gave a soft _tch_ in annoyance. "Stalling," he muttered. "Wouldn't put it past him to have a damn army coming to defend this shit hole…"

“A lot of traditionally made bullets are made of lead.” Hunk paused and gave Lance’s arm an anxiously considering look as he finished the knot. Lead poisoning was _serious_ \- that was normally what killed the men back in the Revolutionary War, if he remembered right from his history lessons. He leaned in close, and took a sniff of the wound on Lance’s arm.

He looked away from the hall again, and the anger shifted at the look on Hunk's face. His comment seemed so out of place, so strangely casual for the tense situation. And his stomach tightened as Hunk leaned in, scenting the air and Lance's arm.

“… Hunk?” Lance gave him a curiously wary look as his best friend pressed his nose to the makeshift bandage. Lance trusted him, without a doubt, but he was wary of what had Hunk so anxious. He usually respected personal space when he had open wounds.

Keith wasn't like Lance. The only thing that kept him from raising his gun as Hunk pressed his nose to the wound, was that Lance seemed steady and unafraid. Even after these few years, where Hunk had saved his ass more times than he could _count_ , it was still hard to see him inspecting a wound so close to his mouth without imagining it going horribly _wrong_. Still, he gripped his gun a little tighter out of reflex.

Hunk didn’t answer immediately, having to sort through the smell of fresh meat and blood, and look below it. It took him a moment, his thick brows furrowing, as his lungs gurgled on air that he forcibly inhaled. He noticed Keith tensing, but in these situations, just staying calm and carrying on usually worked best. Reacting to it usually ended up bad.

“No lead.” Hunk confirmed. Hunk had worked with lead before- and Hunk had been hit with lead bullets before. They had an acrid stink to them, like poison almost. “But don’t get hit again.” He scolded, leering at the both of them. “I _can’t_ fix you if you get lead poisoning.”

It was a relief when Hunk pulled back. Explaining himself. It was tangible as Keith let out the breath be hadn't known he was holding and shifted his feet restlessly. "Don't plan on it," he replied.

“ _Oh._ ” Lance squeaked. “Right. _Okay_. So, how are we going to get in?”

“I could probably down the door.” Hunk backed up from them both, coughing wetly to clear his lungs of the mess oozing down into them. He didn’t need to breathe so to speak, but he had to have air in order to speak. A double edged incredibly _gross_ sword, in all reality.

The sound of that cough made Keith's brows pull. Seeing the dark blood coming up and staining his chin made his stomach churn. However, there was nothing they could do about it here. The best thing would be to take care of Zarkon quickly so they could out of here and tend to their undead friend back in Altea.

“It’d get us in there- and lead bullets can’t really make me sick.” Not that getting shot was fun, but he’d been shot… Way too many times. Hunk could sort of shrug it off now- bullet holes were easier to ignore than say, someone trying to gut him. “What do you think, Keith?”

"It's too risky," Keith replied. "His aim is too--"

“You could, but what if he gets you in the head?” Lance paused, and then patted the floor excitedly. “Oh! Oh! The trash can! The big metal one! Think you can squeeze in it and run down the hall at the door? Would that work? Like, body armor almost?”

Lance interrupted, and the look on his face was already setting Keith on edge. And really, he wasn't surprised at all. "That's fucking _stupid,_ " he growled.

However…

He picking himself off the wall with a heavy sigh. He really didn't want to give this one to Lance, but this was no time to be petty. "And, unfortunately, the only stupid _plan_ we have."

He holstered his gun and gestured for Hunk to follow. The metal garbage can probably wouldn't protect Hunk for long, they weren't designed to take bullets, but it might work just long enough for the intended purpose. Which was to essentially turn Hunk into a jimmy-rigged tank.

Jesus, what _were_ they even doing…

"Lance, watch for movement. If he makes an attempt to escape, shoot the bastard." Lance was the best shot on the team. If anyone could hit Zarkon in the split second he opened the door to run for it, it would be him. "Hunk, I'll help you with the..." he paused and lowered his voice in disdain, "... _garbage can_."

Lance gave Keith the cheekiest salute yet- well, perhaps not the cheekiest, there had been plenty of other stupid plans of his that had worked out before and he’d been a smug fucker over those too- and lifted his rifle to keep the nose of it just around the corner, ready to shoot if he saw or heard anything. “I’ve got asshole covered. You get Hunk all armored up. God, this is going to be so fucking great- I wish we had working phones. I would so put this on YouTube if the internet still worked.”

For once, Keith didn't object. Namely, because he _wanted_ to do the same thing. Not for the idiocy or laughter or whatever Lance was getting out of it though. For the _normalcy_. The thought of YouTube was a harsh reminder of how much his life had changed and how much they all had fallen and lost. And it sobered his expression, and briefly shadowed his gaze.

Lance did have a point though. This would be pretty great, and even he couldn't help but give a faint smile.

“Of _course_ you would, Lance.” Hunk gave a big sigh that sent blood sputtering down his front, and straightened himself out a little. “I just hope this works, or I’m gonna be stuck in that can until one of you guys manages to roll me back down the hall without getting shot.”

Which meant Hunk would be stuck there until they came up with another plan, or he managed to roll himself back down the hall. Whatever came first, honestly, but Hunk would bet good hard cash that it would probably be the latter. Well- he’d bet if cash was even still used. The times he’d played poker with the folks back at Altea, they’d made their bets with personal supplies. Hunk had won three bags of stale cheez-its and promptly gave them back to their owners.

Not like he had any use for them. He’d just wanted to play the game and have something to occupy himself as well as have fun.

"It will," he told Hunk, starting down the hall, projecting confidence in Lance's _incredibly_ stupid idea even if he didn't feel it. It _had_ to work though. With both Pidge and Allura occupied, and Matt and Coran keeping Zarkon's men at bay, this was really their only remaining option.

ption.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: I’m hoping to set an update schedule for around the fifteenth and the thirtieth of every month- give or take a day or two. Considering we put this up on the thirteenth, this is the ‘or two’ of the give or take. That being said! Welcome back to WMUH! Ready to see what shenanigans our trio get up to next?
> 
> Also, for the sake of interacting more with all of you lovely readers, Weenie and I are going to ask questions with every chapter! Or almost every chapter. We'll see! And before you panic and go ‘Oh noes, I’m not prepared for the pop quiz sensei plz noooo’, don’t be afraid! It’s not generally going to be related to the plot. It likely might involve the characters in the story, or it might not even be related- we might just ask your favorite color, and answer our own in the following chapter.
> 
> Alright! Question for this chapter, and for the sake of this question, yes, assume Hunk is his jolly Zombie self because that would make life that much more amusing. 
> 
> “What anime would you shove Lance, Hunk, and Keith into if you had the choice, and why?”

Following Keith down the hall was easy, and Hunk didn’t have a problem overturning the trash can. He flipped it back over with something of a relieved gurgle, as he beheld the surprisingly clean inside. It had just held paper scraps, which they could gather later to burn for emergency fuel at their own camp. One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, literally in this case.

“Oh thank god, it’s _clean_. I think I’d cry if I had to deal with trash maggots again.” He gurgled in relief. The one time- one single time- that Hunk had let the two of them hoist him out a window to reach for something that the camp had needed, they’d lost their grip on his belt and he’d fallen and landed in a rotten, maggot filled dumpster. Hunk had been beyond- _absolutely beyond_ \- disgusted.

Keith's frown would have flipped into an amused smile at the memory of the last garbage can incident, except the gurgle had released more black sludge from his friend’s throat. His eyes were drawn to it, brows furrowing in empathy. Watching it trickle down had him unconsciously swallowing.

Not even the warm memory of the shriek Hunk had let out, of guffawing with Lance at Hunk’s horrified noises coming from below them, was enough to put a smile on his face.

They needed to get him something to eat. A stab through the throat had to be painful. Keith didn't even know how his friend was even talking right now. But, it was a thought for later. He knew how much Hunk hated talking about this, and right now, they all needed to focus.

Maybe after the prisoners we're back in Altea, he and Lance could take care of it.

Hunk shifted, and hefted the trash barrel up. It became abundantly clear that he wouldn’t be able to slip it on himself- not while expecting to be able to position himself properly for a charge. His shoulders were just- _just_ barely- narrow enough to squeeze into the garbage can if he squeezed.

The tall Samoan shifted, setting the can down for Keith to take. He dropped down to one knee, and scrunched his shoulders in to let Keith fit the can over him. The can was solid, all the way around, the metal thick enough to survive a couple shots, _hopefully_. “Once I’m in this,” he realized with a raspy hum of surprise, “I’m gonna be blind. Which I mean, great, no shot to the eye, so I can’t really get killed unless he’s got armor piercing rounds or something. If you can though, point me at the door. Or I’m gonna run into the wall like a doofus and Zarkon is probably going to laugh at us.”

Keith was a little to slow to realize what the other wanted until he was on his knees. He blinked in realization and dropped his loosely crossed arms to grasp the heavy metal can then. Which was good, because heavy meant it was sturdy. It could take a hit. And the benefit of being forced to fight all the time in a zombie apocalypse meant despite how heavy, Keith found it surprisingly easy to lift it, flip it, and lower it over Hunk's head.

This was so fucking absurd, Keith mused to himself.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that," Keith murmured out loud, pushing just a little. It was probably tight, and a little painful. Stepping back, he had no idea how Hunk managed to fit, or how the can wasn't bulging. Fuck, he hoped Hunk wouldn't be so stuck they would have to cut it open when they got back.

"I don't think he'll laugh," Keith murmured, a little stiff and tense as he waited for Hunk to stand. And because Hunk knew him so well by now, he knew the other could tell that he was nervous. His voice was a little clipped and tight as he spoke. "We'll make sure you don't miss."

“Oh I think he will.” Hunk’s voice echoed back to Keith from inside the can, distorted and warbled by his wound and muffled by the thick metal squishing him. It gave the sad gurgle almost a comical tinny effect. “ _I_ would laugh. Some big lug in a trash can totally wrecks his shit outside my door? I’d be going ‘what the fuck are these kids doing’ and probably dying of laughter.”

Hunk couldn’t see a thing from inside the garbage can. It was cold, and incredibly, incredibly dark. The sound of his own breathing was loud, and if he weren’t what he was, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear his friends as well as he could. Hunk didn’t move once he was on his feet, standing in place and getting his bearings.

However, he did move when the first nudge from Keith came- as Hunk knew it would.

There was a gentle push. Keith had his hand on the back of the garbage can, guiding Hunk back to Lance. He was careful not to push so hard the other fell, but conscious of pushing hard enough that Hunk knew to move.

"Okay, stop right here," Keith said, and the pressure was gone but his feet were still moving. Probably peeking around the corner again. "Lance, any movement?"

Lance glanced briefly at Keith and Hunk as they approached. The Cuban hadn’t moved from his position at the corner, and he’d kept a careful watch the whole time- no one would be getting past him without getting a bullet in the chest. Head shots were harder and took time, but a gunshot to the chest would still stun pretty much everyone. “I saw a shadow under the door, but no, no movement. Heard him moving around in there, though. Well, as best as I could over you two gabbing.”

“Sorry.” Hunk’s tinny voice gurgled at them out of the can. “We had things to say though.”

Lance snickered. As bad as it was to laugh at how Hunk sounded, he did sound hilarious. “You sound ridiculous, Hunk.”

The detached part of Lance’s mind knew they needed to fix Hunk- and there was plenty of unused meat just laying around outside. Zarkon’s men were up for grabs- once this was all said and done, they’d patch Hunk up good and right, and he’d probably have enough to carve off servings for later. It killed him a little inside that they got to eat Hunk’s delicious meals, and Hunk subsided off of what amounted to eating trash. Lance knew Hunk wouldn’t want to eat it- but he’d need it to heal.

“ _Thaaanks._ ” Hunk drawled dryly, a nasty cough sounding from inside the trash can. “Well...” He paused. “It’s not clean anymore.”

Lance didn’t need whatever conversation they’d had prior to catch that reference. It pulled a snort out of him, and a lopsided grin. “Sure you don’t want some maggots to go with you, Hunk? I’m sure in a place like this, we could find some.”

“Oh _fuck_ you, Lance.” His words had no bite- Hunk was utterly glad that he could amuse his friends. If it went horribly wrong, Hunk wanted their last moments to be spent in good humor, not soul wrenching angst over the asshole behind the door.

“I love you too, _hermano_.” Lance made a kissy face at the trash can with incredibly buff legs sticking out the bottom.

The image of the metal garbage can suddenly splattered with the thick dark sludge of blood from Hunk's mouth made Keith cringe, and yet, for some reason, he had to fight a smile. Maybe it was the dry tone, maybe it was Lance deciding to bring up the very same warm memory of laughter and maggots and the three of them together made the memory louder.

Maybe the tension and the adrenaline from years of fighting had finally lead him to crack...

In any case, Keith raised his hand to cough into it, hiding his chuckle. "Focus," he scolded, but there was a lighter edge to his voice, almost like mirth.

“Anyway, I think you’re ready for launch though.” Lance eyed them both, and then flicked the safety on his rifle into the locked position. Once he wasn’t likely so accidentally shoot himself, he flipped his gun around and shoved the stock of his gun out into the hallway. He waved it around like a barbarian with a stick.

No gunshots sounded.

Violet eyes watched Lance as he tested the hallway. And this was it. He could feel his heart begin to thunder against his ribs and felt the rush of adrenaline in his veins as he held his breath. Body was alert and half expecting bullets to rain down on just that brief movement, shoulders growing so tense they were against his ears when it was greeted with silence.

“Yep!” Lance beamed, breaking the silence. “I think you’re good to go.”

“What did he do?” Hunk asked, concerned. His tone of voice conveyed the fact that he desperately hoped Lance hadn’t just jumped out into the hall to test for bullets. Hunk had absolutely no doubts that Lance would do that.

“Oh, nothing, nothing, _hermano_.” Lance all but sang.

Poor Hunk. He had every right to sound alarmed. Lance was known to do some incredibly stupid things. Like the last time he had decided to scramble up a tree and shoot his gun into the air so the herd of zombies would shuffle his way instead of topple over the RV Hunk and Keith had found. Idiot had almost broken a leg falling out it.

"Don't worry, big guy. He played it smart... For once."

"Get him in position, Keith, and lets get this motherfucker!” Lance grinned, and then ran his finger along his mouth to mimic him going quiet so they didn’t get Zarkon’s attention with their noise. He flipped his gun back around, and peeked himself around the edge of the wall to give them both some cover just in case Zarkon decided to try and shoot.

And really, Keith wanted to complain about the absurdity and hypocrisy of Lance shushing him, but he knew better. There was a time and place. He did shoot Lance a look though. One that clearly said _shut up then!_

Keith put his hand on the back of the metal garbage can and guided Hunk foreword. Carefully put himself behind the bigger Zombie, just in case, while he used both hands to twist until Hunk was angled just right.

Hunk slowly shuffled out, letting Keith guide him step by step. He didn’t say anything more, not wanting to draw attention to them any more than the reflective metal of his trash can armor would. When Keith stopped him, he stopped- and he turned when angled. He felt Keith adjusting him minutely, small adjustments here or there. And then, he felt the soft nudge on his back to tell him to go.

No bullets flew, not even as Hunk’s heavy boots sounded down the hallway like a war drum. He tilted his torso, angling his shoulders, and he tucked his head away from the can. Hunk hit the door before he thought he would, his metal clad shoulder driving into splintered and broken wood, and it rattled him just as much as it rattled on it’s hinges.

There was a crunch, of wood being forced backward. A squeal of metal being bent the wrong direction. It sounded like the door had gave. Hunk couldn’t see if the door gave- but it felt like it did.

Gunfire sounded- Zarkon shooting him in the legs. Hunk yelped, scrambling blindly backwards as bullets shot through his thighs, ducking to the side and towards the walls so Zarkon didn’t completely fuck his legs over.

Keith had just enough time to jerk back around the corner before wood exploded and bullets began to shatter the silence. He heard rather than saw the door splinter and crack as it crashed open. He watched Lance aim instead of watching the chaos, eyes stubbornly on his friend on the opposite corner of the hallway. Felt the ricochet of his rifle as it exploded from the gun in his friends hands.

It was all so fast, and yet, Keith felt like time had stopped moving.

As soon as Hunk was out of the way, Lance had already lined up his rifle, and he took a shot. There was a shout of pain from inside the room, echoing just after the muffled crack of his rifle, and the sound of a gun dropping. “Go!” Lance shouted to Keith. “I couldn’t get his head but I shot his arm.”

Instinct pulled at his gut, deep and rattling. And before the words even left Lance's mouth, he whipped around the corner in a blur of red and black, intuition telling him to move.

Keith processed Hunk, still moving out of the way, black sludge pouring down his pants from bullet holes ravaging his legs, garbage can dented from the bullets that had struck and ricocheted off. He could see the gun falling from Zarkon's hands as he dropped it to guard his injured arm. The sound of the gun hitting the wood was muffled, Zarkon's curse sounding far away.

And then those eyes locked on him. Eyes that almost looked yellow. _Sick_.

The rage that exploded in his gut was hot. _Wild_. Blinding him with red. Keith didn't go for his gun. No, too fast. Too _merciful._ He had seen what happened to Pidge, the bruise around her neck settling in his minds eye. Keith drew the dagger off his belt; its purple handle flashing ominously in the light of the hall.

Zarkon turned. Staggering back into his room. And time resumed moving fast as Keith charged after him, skidding into the room after the tyrant.

"Stop!" Keith demanded.

He should do the right thing. He should tackle Zarkon and bring him to justice in Altea. But Pidge... And then Shiro, and all those people _dead_ because of what he did to Atlas. _No_. He needed to die. He deserved to die.

Zarkon was grabbing another gun.

Keith bared his teeth.

Zarkon raised his weapon.

Keith charged.

The ring of a bullet off metal could be heard, and then a scream. Pure agony that turned into a gurgling groan.

And cruelly, Keith twisted the blade like Zarkon had twisted his dirty fingers around Pidge's pale skin. Until he felt it hit and scrape the bone of Zarkon's ribs. And then he dragged it down. Gutting Zarkon like the blow of losing Shiro, the only family he had left, had gutted him.

Zarkon collapsed on his knees when Keith stepped back. He coughed, blood spewing from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. Hands clutching at his stomach as if to hold what was pouring out of him inside. Gun clattering to the floor.

And then he smiled. Sinister. Dark. Teeth stained pink. "You won't make it out alive," he coughed.

There was a snarl that pulled Keith's attention.

He turned his head and realized that the Zarkon had shot the lock off his closet door.

Horror exploded across his expression at the zombie inside.

Her long white hair was matted and falling out in chunks, skin full of open sores and decay. The zombie’s arms were out stretched and jaw slack as she reached desperately for them, leather collar hanging off her thin and brittle neck leading to the chain scraping across the wooden ground. Her muddy dress covered in dark blood.

He was keeping her... Like a pet. Some sort of deranged fucking pet. Was this... Had she been like Hunk? Had he tortured her too? Until she went feral and crazy? Was not even the _undead_ safe from this man?

Keith's face twisted up. His breath got sharper. His hands began to shake. "You're fucking _sick_."

He turned, and he heard Zarkon call for him to stop. A demand that Keith shrugged off as he approached the woman in her chains. He watched her fingers curl reflexively like a child trying to grab it's mother's shirt and listened to her hungry wails as she snapped her jaws. Her teeth clacked together in her skull.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Keith breathed.

He shoved her against the wall, using one of his arms to hold her down. Zombies were strong, usually. Hunk was proof of that. This one was so frail and weak though from lack of food. It was too easy. _Far_ too easy.

Zarkon screamed. Or tried too. He was choking on too much blood.

His dagger sliced through leather.

Keith drew back, quickly ducking away from the woman. And there was a moment where she chased him, stumbling on weak legs, snarling harshly and inhuman. But then the iron scent in the room pulled her attention. And like any wild thing, the zombie took the path of least resistance while so starved, and she went stumbling after weaker prey.

" _Honerva..._ " Zarkon breathed in horror.

Keith stood still, his eyes cold and mouth set in a firm line while he loomed in the light of the door and shrouded the rest of the room in darkness.

He didn't hear Lance, or Hunk. What he heard was vengeance, in Zarkon's desperate pleas. What he saw was retribution as Zarkon desperately tried to drag his body away and fumbled for his gun. And as Honerva descended upon Zarkon like an angel of death, and the first screams of agony as teeth ripped into flesh filled the room, Keith felt the weight in his soul lift.

This was for Atlas. For all those prisoners. For his friends. For Pidge. For _Shiro_.

Keith was startled by the blurring of his eyes. He blinked rapidly and raised his hands to wipe at his face, leaving blood stains on his cheeks and in his hair. He took a shuddering gasp for breath and turned away.

It was wrong. It was _inhumane_. It was dark and terrifying, the rage he felt, and the satisfaction of hearing Zarkon scream.

_He deserved it._

Keith stumbled back out into the hall, breath still a little ragged. Hand still clutched around his knife far too tight. Still trying to blink the tears away that we're sticking to his lashes.

It was over. _Finally_. He could let go of the anger and the guilt. He could let go of Shiro, and all those people who had fallen because of this bastards hand.

It was almost dizzying, after carrying the weight of it for so long. To just have it be... _Gone_.

"Lance,", Keith managed, his voice sounding strained. On the verge of breaking, he realized, wobbly like how he felt. It was a bit alarming, and embarrassing. But there was no time for mourning or sobbing in relief here. Zarkon still had his men trying to kill them, and they still needed to bring the prisoners back to Altea. "Hunk, let's... Let's go. We should go."

Lance had his rifle cocked, and still had it cocked- but he’d dropped it when Keith had taken control of the situation. He’d been ready, of course, to whip it up if Keith’s luck had turned, but he’d mostly settled in to pry Hunk out of the garbage can.

However, he’d had to stop half way, and leave Hunk to struggle the rest of the way out on his own just as soon as he heard that first inhumane gurgle. And that was how Keith found him, rifle up and trained on the Zombie devouring Zarkon. If Keith hadn’t have had it handled, or if the Zombie hadn’t been chained, Lance would have had her down before she’d have even reached Keith.

As it was, Lance had done nothing- this was Keith’s revenge. _For Atlas_.

Hunk had given up on just trying to squirm out, and with an almost frazzled sounding snarl from him- driven by the sounds of an undead eating someone and no one telling him if it was eating one of his friends or not- Hunk drove his hands through one of the tiny bullet holes in the bottom of the can and ripped the metal all the way up. He emerged like a frantic butterfly- but it was for naught.

Keith was okay, and Lance had them covered.

Keith was reminded of how weak the zombie had been when Hunk ripped open the metal of the garbage can as easily as if it was wrapping paper. He didn't want to think about what that meant, about how long _he_ must have kept _her_ there. Keith didn't want to think about why Zarkon knew who she was.

Zarkon was dead now. There was no point.

Hunk exhaled a titanic gurgle of relief, before the salty smell of Keith’s tears reached him. His heart may no longer have beat, but it still throbbed with empathetic pains- and Hunk struggled to his feet with a grunt, his legs screaming at him with the bullet holes torn through them.

He ached to scoop the shorter man into his arms, to squish him to his chest and give him the hug he so desperately needed. But Hunk was covered in his own blood, and he needed to at least bind his throat so it would stop oozing before he gave any hugs.

It was also hit or miss if Keith was receptive to his hugs. Keith wasn’t quite like Lance- not so completely trusting- and Hunk was okay with that. Most of the others were like Keith in one way or another. Allura maybe being the exception, given the situation that he and Lance saved her from.

But, even if Hunk couldn’t join the hug, Hunk could get them out of there, get them somewhere safe.

“Okay.” Hunk gurgled softly. He reached out and grabbed both of their shoulders, his torn throat reflexively swallowing with hunger as the smell of Zarkon’s blood wafted to him now that he was no longer trapped in the garbage can with his own smell. The woman wouldn’t bother them- not when she had fresh kill to eat.

Hunk’s stomach ached to join her.

He ignored it.

Hunk tucked the both of them against his sides, and he escorted them away from the screams. Zarkon deserved every bit of it- every, last bit of it. And Hunk wasn’t going to deny that it was poetic justice that the ring master got devoured by his own Zombies.

Keith locked eyes with the rifle in Lance's hands beside him rather than his friends face, glad to know the other had been there at his back and just as he was glad to feel the heavy hand on his shoulder. It might have been ice cold, but as Hunk began to lead them away, the sentiment was warm enough that the cold didn't _matter_. _**Zarkon was dead.**_

The thought sounded weird in his own head, rattling and echoing strangely. It was a dream he fought to reach for years. Something that, at a time, had felt like only something he could fantasize about. And he had spent so long dreaming and striving that it still didn't _feel_ real.

Once they turned the corner though, and were out of sight, Lance jerked out of Hunk’s hold, and whipped around to face Keith. Instead of shouting, or yelling, or any of his usual Lance behavior though- he yanked the teary eyed Korean into his arms and hugged him tight. “It’s over.” Lance breathed. “We did it. You did it.”

Keith was lost in his head as Hunk lead them away from the blood and screams and crunching bones. So much so that he startled when Lance was suddenly there, colliding with him and wrapping around him tight. He took another sharp breath again, and hesitantly raised his own hands, loosely returning the hug.

"Yeah," he whispered back, and then laughed into Lance's shoulder. It was a warm sound of utter relief. "We did."

The sounds of gunfire outside were already dying off. Zarkon’s men didn’t have much else to stand on- and there were too many prisoners fighting back alongside their team for them to handle. And, with one more explosive whoop from someone who could only be Coran, it went silent.

And then the cheering started.

 _Zarkon was dead._ Keith gasped and gripped Lance harder. Probably too hard, but he couldn’t find it in his mind to let go. Rapture bloomed like roses inside of him. Suddenly he felt like he could breathe, for the first time in years. Exhaustion sagged in his bones and causing him to slump into his friend.

Hunk smiled softly, and simply lingered by the duo. “We did it.” He gurgled his agreement. “Zarkon is dead,” Or rather, dying based on his noises that Hunk could still clearly hear with his senses, “and we saved innocent people today. It’s a good day. A better day.”

Movement caused Keith to look up. Exhausted eyes glanced over Lance's shoulder as Allura emerged from the basement, another prisoner beside her. He could see Pidge too, and his chest gave a throb of relief for her. She was a little ruffled and bruised, but alive, and heading towards them. And Coran, with his strikingly red mustache and hair, was corralling the last of the prisoners out of the building.

Hunk wasn't hugging him, but he could feel it, his steady presence looming behind him like a guardian. And Keith realized Hunk was right. They did this. They made it. _All_ of them. The prisoners were finally free. And he was too. Surrounded by people he loved and who loved him; his new family.

And the prisoners could find it with them too. They could find safety and warmth like Keith had; they could find shelter and food and love, like they deserved. Just like the one Allura was leading carefully up the steps, his legs trembling and almost too weak to hold his own body up.

A prisoner, Keith realized, who looked hauntingly familiar.

The prisoner must have felt his gaze, because his silver eyes lifted. Gazing between grimy white bangs that looked almost black with dirt.

The sight slammed Keith with a rush of memories and glittering stars.

Atlas.

Laughter.

Kind smiles.

A steady voice to bring him home after he had been drowning at sea. His guiding light in the darkness. His savior who had found him in the rubble of his broken soul and pulled him back out of the wreckage.

_It couldn't be…_

Lance felt it, the tension that shot up Keith's spine, the whole of his being going rigid. All that weight previously lifted, slamming him so hard in the shoulders again that his knees almost collapsed. His whole world was collapsing out from under him, his already pale skin going white. A new horror breaking through his chest as wounds in his heart began bleeding anew.

He thought... But Zarkon had...

Oh, god, he _knew_ those eyes. He knew that _man_.

This time the world around him came to a screeching halt.

"Shiro…"

Hunk perked up at Pidge approaching, until he caught the look on her face. He wilted a little bit, and a grimace crossed his face as he watched her pull on her gloves, but his attention was drawn back down to Keith when he heard that desperate whisper of a word. He could worry about Pidge prying out bullets in a minute. “What did you say?”

“Keith?” Lance had taken all of Keith’s weight when Keith had gone limp in his arms. Of the three of them, Lance was not the most physically strong. Lance was taller than Keith, but Keith out weighed him in sheer muscle bulk- Lance was more of a runner’s build, which gave him greater skills in running the fuck away when they got into shenanigans. “Fuck- Keith? Keith, Jesus, _Keith_ , breathe, come on man. What did you say? Shiro?”

Hunk wiped his hands on his sides, and moved around to gently take Keith from Lance, hefting him up to sit on an over-turned oil barrel. “Alright- sit a moment, you’re going to fall.” He gurgled firmly.

“Alright, _batman_ , what the hell did you do to your throat?” Pidge snapped as she reached them. She finished adjusting her gloves, having gotten the rest of her usual tool and gear kits from Matt and Coran. “Why don’t you sit down with Keith. I can see you favoring your legs. You’ve got more holes than a fishing net, and I know it hurts.

Hunk huffed at her and grumbled. “I’m fine, Pidge.”

“Don’t you grumble at me- it’s not my fault you got your throat torn and legs chock full of bullets.” She rested a hand on Keith’s shoulder, and took a quick look at him. She wasn’t as good at Hunk when it came to purely medical diagnostics, but she thought he might have been in shock. Mostly, Pidge dedicated herself to tending to Hunk, though she could never manage to stitch him up. She couldn’t make the stitches deep enough.

“Why don’t you focus on your boyfriend for a change-”

“How about I patch up our doctor so he can take care of the wounded we have, hm?” She gave him a flat look, drawing her hands back to herself. “ _Sit_ , Hunk.”

“I’m not a dog, Pidge.” He groused at her, his gurgle verging on a growl, but he plopped down next to Keith with a grumbling sigh. She was right- he was the closest thing they had to a doctor, though most of what he’d learned was from the books he read, and lessons learned from actual doctors he’d helped before he’d come to them. He hadn’t been in actual medical school- biomechanical engineering didn’t teach you how to remove a rupturing appendix. “And it’s _not_ my fault I’m torn up either. White stripe down there took out my throat in a panic, and Zarkon was a gun happy freak.”

Her hand landed in his hair, and she ruffled it under his faded orange-yellow headband. Pidge gave him a lopsided smirk. “ _Good boy._ ”

Hunk glared and gave her a mock growl. He wasn’t really angry with her over it- Pidge was known for a sharp tongue and if you couldn’t take her barbed jibes, then you just didn’t talk to Pidge. He likened her to a chihuahua- she was small, so she had to bark big to make her point heard.

Lance snorted. “You two are great.” He moved to crouch down, and he took Keith’s pale face into his hands. “Hey.” He patted his cheek. “Deep breaths with me now, okay? Whatever you saw, whoever you saw- you need to be conscious to handle it. Come on. In.” And Lance inhaled, nice and slow. “And out. Come on, Keith.”

"Holy shit. What happened to Hunk?" Matt asked, stepping off of the bottom step to the upstairs bedrooms. After greeting his sister with the greatest sibling hug of all time and tears that he refused to admit were tears, that was where he had gone to provide them all with cover fire.

"I didn't do it." Pidge replied easily, barely sparing a glance for her brother.

It was easy to see Matt and Pidge were related. He had the same look on his face as he came to stand behind her. Hazel eyes flickered over the dark holes in Hunk's legs and then up to the hole in his throat and he let out a low whistle.

"Seriously. The bullets I get- you're always getting shot at- but that?" And he pointed to his own neck with a grimace. "Ow." Those wounds looked pretty deep... Hunk was going to need something to eat after this. A fact he was sure everyone was aware of. A fact he wisely decided _not_ to say out loud. Instead, Matt's lips quirked up, and he turned a playful eye to his sister. "Though, you do kind of have this cool General Grievous thing going for you now."

Hunk stuck his tongue out at Matt and rolled his eyes. "Whackadoodle with a stabby stick."

"That'd do it." Matt agreed. Finally, he settled his eyes on Keith, and his brows shot up. "You okay there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Keith didn't answer. Just as he hadn't answered Lance.

Keith had been so sure that he was gone. So sure that Zarkon had taken him, killed him. The gears in his mind were stuck. Grinding together as his legs refused to work. His eyes never tore away from the prisoner. His heart erupted. A volcano of warmth and confusion and desperation. Filling his chest and spilling out his eyes; falling over Lance's fingers. His breath shallow and as shaky as his hands.

He thought he was gone forever. That he'd never see him again. And yet...

"Whoa! Hey!" Matt shifted at the sight of seeing Keith in tears. He had known him for as long as Pidge, and even when he re-told the gruesome story of his father's death or when they escaped Atlas, Keith hadn't cried. Keith just wasn't a cry-er.

To see him like this was incredibly alarming.

"Keith! What happened!?" Matt shared a concerned looked with Lance quickly. Lance was trying to calm him, but from what!? "H-hey, dude, what's wrong?"

It wasn't until Matt tried to block his gaze that the other jolted as if electrocuted, like someone had struck him with a defibrillator to bring him to life. He didn't need to breathe. He just needed to get to _Shiro._ To hold him and know he was _real_. To squeeze the life out of the man who had been everything to him.

"Shiro!" He gasped, and he shoved his hand against Lance's forehead, pushing him back. He pushed Matt too. And he almost fell off the barrel, nearly tripping before he found his feet.

"What?" Matt mimicked, before turning his head. And his eyes widened. "It can't be…"

Keith was running. A blur of red. Moving so fast it was if he flew. A comet streaking across the sky to collide with Earth's crust.

Allura looked up at the shout. "K-Keith! Wait!" All she knew was that Shiro was scared and volatile and seeing Keith rush him could end in disaster. She panicked.

But Keith didn't listen. And he shoved her aside too before crashing into the prisoner at full force, causing them both to stumble.

The platinum blonde gripped her weapon, but hesitated. There was no pain. No screams of agony. No violence. Instead the prisoner wrapped his frail arms around Keith. Instead she watched in shock as tears spilled over the caked on blood and grime on the prisoners cheeks.

Realization dawned. "Oh..." She breathed.

"Shiro," Keith sobbed openly. And he didn't care about grime and sweat and blood. He buried his face in the warmth of Shiro's shoulder just to feel him. His fingers fisted the pathetic scraps of clothing hanging off Shiro's shoulders.

And it was so stupid. He felt stupid. But he couldn't find any other words. Reduced to sobbing Shiro's name like a broken record. Yet he didn't care. He didn't care because Shiro was alive. Alive and right here with him…

Hunk had tried to struggle to his feet to lunge after Keith, but Pidge hooked her foot behind his ankle and yanked his weight out from under him. He landed back on the barrel with a snarl, and found her finger boldly in his face.

“You. Stay. Put.” She glared. A quick glance over her shoulder had her sucking in a sharp breath of air, but she didn’t bolt like Keith, or stare like Matt. She had things she had to do first before she let herself crumble and break. They had Shiro back. And they wouldn’t let Shiro go again. Not without a fight. “It’s Shiro.” She breathed in something like shock. “Shiro wouldn’t ever hurt Keith. He was with us- Keith, Matt and me, back at Atlas. Keith is just… Really, _really_ happy to see him again.”

Lance hauled himself up against the railing. He’d just been sprawled on the floor while Keith had run off, honestly unable to believe the fact he’d been pushed over so easily, even if Keith was more of a muscly powerhouse than he was. “It doesn’t look like they’re hurting each other, so I think Pidge is spot on about him being really happy. I think Keith’s crying. Like actual tears, not those angsty anime ‘wants to cry but doesn’t cry’ thing that he usually does. Where his eyes get all angry and sparkly.”

Hunk gave then both a flat look. “I can smell his tears. He’s _actually_ crying.”

“And that was probably _the_ most death metal thing I’ve ever heard you say. Especially with the batman voice.” Lance snorted. “Alright. Matt, Pidge? Okay, not Matt.” Matt was staring down at Shiro, but Pidge seemed to be holding herself together. “Pidge. Keep Hunk here. I’m going to go get him some… _Healing supplies_ , from our helpful hosts here at Zarkon’s abode. I’ll be back in a few, alright?”

“Alright.” Pidge waved him off, and crouched down to dig her tools into Hunk’s legs, probing the holes for bullets.

Hunk was left pondering the fact that Shiro- someone who his friends undoubtedly loved and would protect with their lives now that they had him back- had looked at him with absolute horror.

Shiro had been the ‘white haired whackadoodle’ to rip his throat out.

Well. Altea was going to be a lot more interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Weenie and I thank ya'll for your continued support! Hope ya'll like the early installment, and that ya'll have been having a good time. Now, onto the Questions of the chapter!
> 
> Question from last chapter!: “What anime would you shove Lance, Hunk, and Keith into if you had the choice, and why?”
> 
> Strider's answer: Attack on Titan. There's already titans eating people- toss in a couple post apocalyptic humans and their human eating zombie, and that's a recipe for Chaos. I wonder if zombies can eat titans...
> 
> Weenie's answer: My hero academia. Lance would be an incredible green haired kid and Keith could be sparky sparky boom man. Not sure who Hunk would be tho. Hunk would probably have Lasgna powers. Noodles turn into cannons and shoot ricotta cheese every where.
> 
>  
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS CHAPTER: "In your opinion, what animals would the Voltron crew be?"

Traveling was hard with a group. It was especially difficult when the majority of the group we're starving, sick, and injured.

Hunk, Pidge, Coran, and even Matt, despite how much he disliked being a medic, had all done what they could with the supplies they had- all under Hunk's guidance of course. They’d taken their time tending to some of the worst of the prisoners, but it wasn’t enough- they only had so much supplies, and so little time to haul out a group that size with time as their enemy.

Everything that they carried, even with Hunk's endurance allowing them to use him as a pack mule of sorts only got them so far.

Out of the two dozen people, more than half were still limping and bleeding with slow seeping wounds that were undoubtedly ringing like a giant dinner bell to all the zombies they couldn't see in the dark lines of the forest surrounding the road.

It made travel slow, too. Trudging the few miles between the fallen Galra community and Altea shouldn't take more than an hour or two. However, with the addition of elderly and children with their injured, it was unsurprising they had already been on the road for far longer than that.

"Why don't we take a break?" Coran called out after a moment, his brows furrowed as he looked out at the sea of prisoners behind them.

Allura pursed her lips. "Coran," she scolded. "It's almost sunset. We should keep moving."

They weren't like Hunk, who could spot the hidden zombies in the shadows. Even with him there to help spot and protect them, everyone could feel the unspoken truth in the air. If the group didn't make it back to Altea before the sun went down, there was a good chance they _wouldn't_ make it back at all.

However…

"I understand your concern," Coran replied, "but we can't push them any harder than we already have." He turned to her, and his voice was softer, endearing and private. Speaking to her as her uncle, not as one of their groups soldiers. "They're sick and injured, princess. They need to rest."

"Coran's right," Matt pitched in. His eyes had strayed to Shiro, who seemed to collapse along with all the other prisoners, grateful that the others had stopped moving. And his worry for his long lost friend _was_ transparent. "They've already made it this far. We've only got another forty-five minutes, even at the rate they're going. A short rest couldn't hurt."

Allura looked between her uncle and Matt, her expression uncertain. It almost looked like she was going to disagree. But one sweeping look over the pale and exhausted faces behind her had it morphing into something sympathetic and kind.

"Matt, Coran, Lance," Allura finally spoke, "would you help me give out water to the survivors?" She asked gently.

"Of course," Coran replied, and his tone was warm and proud.

"Sure," Matt answered.

“Anything for you, Allura.” Lance beamed at her, arms already swinging his rifle up and his extra pack down to bring out the extra canteens to pass around.

"Thank you," Allura replied with an answering smile.

Hunk was already moving to join Lance without having to be asked.

Without even having to look up at the resident medic, she added, "Hunk, I want you to rest too." She knew he would want to help. Hunk was kind in that way. However, he was walking on legs full of bullet holes, and bleeding too. It didn't matter to her that he was dead. Hunk was hurt just as bad as the rest of rescued prisoners, and he deserved to sit and gather his strength too.

Naturally, Hunk balked. “But-”

When Allura finally lifted her blue eyes, they landed on Pidge instead of addressing Hunk. "I'm counting on you to make sure he does that."

“Hey!” Hunk’s brows furrowed.

“Come on, big guy.” Pidge laughed. “I could use a rest for my feet too. I don’t know about you, but my bruises are killing me- and I want to check your neck.” Pidge hooked her fingers into Hunk’s belt loop, and pulled the heavily burdened Zombie off to the side.

Allura left Pidge to it, grabbing the few canteens they had for spares to walk among the rescued prisoners and offer each of them a small sip.

She didn't ask for Keith, because Keith was currently occupied. He hadn't left Shiro's side since their emotional embrace.

"You're cold," Keith announced, watching Shiro.

The other made a non-committal sound.

Wordlessly, Keith shrugged out of his signature cropped jacket to drape it over Shiro's shoulders. It should have been dwarfed by Shiro's bulk, but the other was so frail and starved that it served to only make him look smaller. More vulnerable.

"I know it's not much," Keith started, hesitant.

Shiro shook his head. It was warm and smelled like Keith. It made it more than enough. "Thank you."

Keith's expression softened, going tender and warm. He was glad to have helped Shiro in some way, though he was left swallowing down the bitter guilt of not coming for him sooner. He should have pushed to stop Zarkon sooner- should have fought harder with Allura to raid the compound months before. He should have never stopped trying to look for Shiro in the first place.

Shiro wasn't exactly talkative, or present. He seemed to be in a daze for most of their travels, and Keith didn't blame him one bit. He didn't push. Keith simply kept by his side as a steady presence to guide him as Shiro had done for him so many years ago. However, he would be lying if he said he wasn't happy to see Shiro looking around, silver eyes becoming a little more alert.

"Here," Keith added, suddenly slipping his own canteen off his shoulder. He twisted the top off and handed it to the other.

Shiro accepted, but he didn't drink right away. "You found a new group," he stated, more than asked.

"Oh, yeah." Keith felt a little ashamed, and he wasn't sure why. Shiro said it so casual and bland, as if it was a fact and nothing else. Yet still, Keith felt as if somehow he had betrayed him. "It's called Altea."

Shiro made another non-committal hum. His eyes were searching, peering through the crowds until they landed on the massive undead man. And suddenly they hardened like the cold steel of a blade. His fingers curled tight around the canteen.

"And you allow _things_ like him in?" He growled.

The change was sudden. From dazed and quiet, to the grit of barely contained fury.

Keith blinked, still processing the sudden shift as he followed Shiro's gaze. "You mean Hunk?"

"It doesn't need a name," Shiro spat. "It's _dead_."

Those eyes flipped up so fast Keith was winded by it. And the coldness of them pierced right through him, like an icicle to the chest. He almost wanted to squirm like a bug pinned to a cork-board.

It was so... _Not_ Shiro. The Shiro he knew was warm and kind and full of such love and light. _This_ Shiro... Keith swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Shiro seemed to realize he was making Keith uncomfortable, and he looked down at the canteen in his lap. But he refused to apologize. He wouldn't. Instead, he let them settle into a tense silence.

Keith was not the only one that Shiro was making uncomfortable.

Hunk had _clearly_ heard Shiro's venomous words oozing over the exhausted crowd of survivors whispering in hushed murmurs to themselves. He wouldn't have been paying attention to Shiro or any of them really, but he was on hyper alert.

Of everyone here, Hunk was the only one capable of engaging in combat with no risk. Before they’d stopped, he'd been walking patrols around the group while they'd been traveling. Everyone else was utterly exhausted, and after the fire fight with Zarkon's men, their ammo supplies were running on the low side. Thankfully, there hadn't been any trouble- but with how tired everyone was, if a horde appeared, Hunk wasn't sure that they could outrun it.

And Hunk knew there were Zombies around. He could smell them off in the distance. A couple were slowly stumbling in their direction, but the strong odor of Hunk's blood was masking the group just a little. It couldn't completely cover the smell of fresh, living blood, but his circling had likely bought them some safety.

Some of the Zombies were growing too close to them though- Hunk could smell them on the wind. He'd have to deal with them before too long, despite Allura's orders for him to sit and rest and Pidge literally sitting at his side to enforce it.

Okay. Not sitting- she had her hands on his neck, and was tilting him back and forth and looking at his healing wounds.

"Okay, I'm garbage at this emotions stuff, but you look sad." She commented, tilting his head up and pressing lightly at the healing flesh. "What did you hear?"

"Just some usual stuff from new people, Pidge." Not just anyone though- that was from Shiro. Shiro, who Keith, Pidge, and Matt had all missed and practically touted as a saint from the few stories he’d gotten about the man. Hunk sighed- his voice was loads better, but the front of his throat was still a mess. It was healing, incredibly slowly, but he still had probably an hour or so before it was completely gone. "How’s it looking?"

"Gross, but that’s nothing new when it comes to any time you get wounded. Anyone that can bleed road tar is guaranteed to be listed on the gross list." She hummed, eyes squinting a little behind her dirtied glasses as she blinked through the dimming sunlight and did her best to assess his wounds. "Don't listen to whatever they're saying, Hunk. They just haven't gotten to know you yet. You’re literally the warmest guy I know.”

He gave her a bemused look and cracked a dorky joke. “Pidge. _Warmest_ guy? I’m about forty degrees Fahrenheit on the norm, Pidge. I’m generally cold as shit.”

“Which is also about four degrees Celsius, you uncultured gear-head.” She huffed at him. “Also, you're healing slower than usual. These bullet holes should have closed by now.”

Hunk hummed and grunted as she tore the rest of his shirt to tie around his neck. Being shirtless made him shiver. Death didn't mean he didn't get chilly sometimes, and his body didn’t generate any heat of it’s own. Hunk liked to wear warm clothing- and spend time in the sun if he could. "Well. I am healing from my neck. And a literal ass-load of bullets. _Aaaaand_ you prying out bullets." He flicked his gaze down to her. "It'll take longer with what I ate and how much my body is trying to heal all in one go, you know."

Pidge hummed. She finished tying the makeshift bandage around his neck, and then moved to rifle in the cooler clipped onto his belt. "Lance packed more _supplies_ for you, Hunk. You should eat."

"Not now, Pidge." He shook his head, and flicked his eyes over to Shiro briefly as Lance bypassed the two of them and headed out to check and see if Keith and Shiro needed more water. He noticed as Lance paused, and cast a glance at the two of them. Hunk waved him off- Lance had an innate knack for knowing when something had gotten under his skin.

The Samoan liked to think it was because they’d been traveling together for so long now. Or perhaps, Lance had heard whispers too. Shiro wasn’t the only one who didn’t like what Hunk was. There were several in the new group muttering to themselves about what he was. It also wasn’t the first time Lance had seen the ghost of a look on his face either. Hunk knew what he was- and what others thought of him. Lance was probably the only one of their group who trusted him unconditionally.

Even Keith had thought Hunk was a monster at first- and that had resulted in many a fight between Keith and Lance, with Lance wanting to defend Hunk.

Lance gave him a concerned look, but another wave had the Cuban man hesitantly continuing on his path of doing water-checks.

"Hunk." Pidge gave him a disapproving look, forced to stop her rifling as he dropped a heavy hand on the lid and began to force it down. She removed her fingers before they got pinched. "Don't let the words get to you. You need to eat to _heal_ , Hunk. That’s just how you work- we’ve accepted it."

"I don't want to make people uncomfortable, Pidge." He sighed at her. "And, it's not safe."

That made her pause. "Not safe?"

"We shouldn't linger here for too much longer." He hedged awkwardly, shifting in his seat. His legs throbbed, and he stretched them out with a grimace as he shrugged the rest of his gear off to rest his back. "My smell is probably confusing them, but I'm going to have to go run interference soon."

"You need to be able to rest too, Hunk." She frowned.

“I’m resting now, Pidge.” He ruffled her hair, and slouched into himself with a soft sigh, plopping his head into his palm. “Why don’t you stop fussing over me and focus on resting your legs too, eh?”

“ _Mmm_ … Fine.” She huffed. She shifted, and leaned her dirty shoulder against his bare side, sighing pleasantly. “You make a good ice pack, Hunk.”

“Glad to be of service, you cuddly gremlin.” He hefted an arm around her shoulders, and hugged her gently as he turned his ears towards everyone else- and his nose towards the scents of death so he could be ready to handle the threat before it got to them.

Lance’s attention was on Hunk and Pidge for a few moments longer despite his buddy assuring him he was fine. Eventually he sighed, and continued on his way, parceling out drinks of water until he was down to the last of the canteens.

“Hey, Keith. Got another canteen for you and Shiro. I dunno if you’re out of water or not, but hydration is good.” He passed the last quarter of the canteen he had out towards Keith. His gaze distractedly wandered back towards Hunk, watching his friend sort of droop into himself and into Pidge as they rested on a fallen log. Lance gnawed on his bottom lip and sighed, before rolling his shoulder. His grazed arm ached. “Man. Y’know, some folks can be so rude.” Lance huffed finally, knowing Keith knew what he was talking about. “Etch, whatever. Folks are just scared- and with what we cleared out in that damn death pit, I can imagine _why_. Zarkon was a sick fucker- definitely glad he's dead.”

But, Hunk was the sweetest guy Lance had ever met. He would, quite literally, give you the shirt off his back so long as it wasn’t covered in Zombie slime and couldn’t infect you. Lance knew Hunk would win them over in time- and if not with time, then with his cooking.

"Y-yeah…"

Keith did know exactly what Lance was talking about. And, unfortunately, as he accepted the canteen from the other, he found himself swallowing almost guiltily.

Shiro was one of them.

Shiro wasn't exactly _wrong_ either.

But Hunk... Hunk was a friend. A good friend. He didn't deserve to be talked to or about like that. He was kind, and conscious of himself, and careful, and he had saved so many... It didn't matter that he was undead.

When he thought about saying so, however, he looked to Shiro and his throat closed off. Shiro had been kind too. Had saved his life just as many times as Hunk had. And Shiro... Shiro was like his brother. Like family. He loved him.

"Thank you," he settled on, gesturing to the canteen Lance had given him and trying not to let his torn and confused thoughts and emotions show up on his face. Lance had an annoying habit of reading people with the same alarming accuracy as his sniper rifle, and right now wasn't really the time and place to discuss it.

Lance shook his head with a sigh again and glanced down at Shiro. “How are you holding up?” He asked softly, sharp tone dropping from his voice. “Everyone’s pretty worn out- but we’re almost there. We’ll have to start walking again soon though before it gets too dark- but we can make it.” He grinned. Hunk made an amazing seeing eye guard dog, as horrible as it was to think of him like that.

Keith watched as the older man searched Lance's smile. His eyes were hesitant, and untrusting, as if he was unsure what kind of answer Lance might be looking for.

"I'm fine." He finally settled on.

Keith furrowed his brows and frowned. Shiro was most definitely not fine. None of the prisoners were fine.

One of Lance’s finely sculpted brows crawled up his face. He definitely saw the unsettled look on Keith’s face- but he couldn’t really attribute it to why he was unsettled. Keith had been weird since they’d found Shiro, so Lance didn’t really have a specific basis to go off of. And Shiro- well, Lance did not know the man nearly well enough to know his tells and quirks.

“You’re fine, and I’m the Queen of England.” He rolled his eyes in good humor. “Though, I would absolutely rock a crown. I get it though. Easier to push stuff off, yeah?” He waved a hand lightly in the air, before plopping it on his hip. “You’re gonna be one of us though, man- assuming you want to stay and don’t wanna go to one of the other communities. You don’t gotta hide shit- if you’re tired, or if something hurts, let us know.” Lance paused, and shuffled on his feet. “I mean, we probably can’t do much about it _now_ , but we can try. Hunk’s got all kindsa junk in that endless pack of his- he’s probably got something for pain in there too.”

Shiro continued to stare at Lance, almost blankly. He wasn't sure what the other was looking for. Until he mentioned Hunk, and then they darkened, sudden and drastic. His gaze pulled away in contempt.

Normally, Keith would have snorted into the canteen and rolled his eyes. They had come a long way since they first met, and they constantly fought with one another. As Keith learned to trust Hunk, and open up, he and Lance's relationship became less abrasive.

However... This time he gave Lance a _look_. A very clear, don't push it or there might be trouble. He _knew_ Lance meant well, but Shiro... Shiro didn't need to feel pressured to do anything, even get along with the others. Keith just wanted him to rest and heal.

There was silence for a moment, and Lance cocked his head as something caught his eye out in the forest. His eyes flicked out into the gloom, over Shiro’s head, and he squinted a little as he spotted something just entering his field of view.

Lance had an exceptional skill in visual perception. He lacked the night sight that Hunk had, but even in the daylight, Lance’s ability to pick out targets and individual features at a distance still outstripped even their Zombie’s exceptional vision. The only time that Hunk had Lance beat was when it came to total darkness, or when the light became too low for anything a couple hundred meters out to be visible.

And then Lance was looking up, and Keith hesitated. He knew that look. Hand automatically flying to his dagger on his belt and resting on the hilt, going almost inhumanly still as he glanced over his shoulder. It was fruitless; his eyesight was nothing like Lance's. But, he still tried.

Shiro noticed the sudden tension and movement. And abruptly he was shifting too, trying to get to his feet. But the muscles in his legs that had been confined to a small kennel for so long weren't used to such precise movements, and he let out a tiny muffled sound as he collapsed.

"Shiro," Keith gasped, almost dropping Lance's canteen in his haste to catch the other, eyes pulling away from the dark shrubbery and hand pulling away from his knife. Keith just barely managed to wrap his arms around the once larger man and set him back down as he crumbled.

The sniper backed up a step from Shiro as Keith helped him settle back down. Lance swiveled to look back at Hunk. He whistled a high sharp tone to get his attention, and was rewarded with Hunk’s gaze near instantly flicking to him, his posture straightening to attention and disturbing Pidge at his side.

Lance couldn’t hear Pidge muttering to Hunk- but he could tell Hunk was paying utter attention to him. It surprised Lance a little that Hunk hadn’t noticed one getting this close- but, there were a lot of people, and not a single one of them was silent. They were talking, all a low murmur and some at louder tones- all expressing and enjoying their first freedom in a long time.

Before they’d saved Allura, and met up with Coran and then adopted Keith into their dysfunctional little family, Lance and Hunk had been mostly on their own. There came times when verbal communication wasn’t possible- so whistling calls and hand signals had been something they developed.

Lance whistled again, a low tone, and lifted his hand in a quick flicking motion. His thumb and index finger made a circular motion, before he clenched it into a fist.

Hunk shrugged off Pidge with a short nod, turning on his heel and loping out into the forest to intercept the Zombie that was rapidly picking up pace, heading for the back of the group.

Everyone else knew Lance and Hunk had a special relationship, often times never needing spoken words to understand one another. And though none of them knew it, they understood when Hunk limped off into the woods what he was doing.

His departure gathered looks- many of them. But, it garnered less looks than it would have if Lance would have lifted his rifle and fired off a shot. His rifle wasn’t quiet enough for that- and the shot would have brought more of them running. Hunk’s much more silent dispatching- usually only accompanied by the snarls of angry Zombies- didn’t usually hasten the approach.

Where there was one Zombie, every one of the survivors had learned, there was always more lurking somewhere.

Lance watched as Hunk intercepted the Zombie. There was only one low gurgling snarl from the Zombie, before it slumped down dead, hitting the forest floor with a muffled thump. Hunk flicked his knife, and began the trek back to them. There was a small limp in his step, and Lance wondered if Pidge’s digging had nicked any of his tendons.

The gurgled snarl brought an absolutely hushed silence over the group, however. Prisoners glanced out into the gloom, struggling to see in the rapidly growing dark.

“We’re gonna have to go.” Lance sighed, and turned his gaze to Allura. “ _Malditos zombis estúpidos_. I was hoping we’d have more time to rest- everyone’s bushed.”

Allura finished helping a young child sip from her canteen before standing, her brows furrowing.

The gurgling of a dying zombie sent a tense silence descending upon the traveling party, and she started making her approach towards Lance while giving him a wounded look. "I know," she said.

Keith looked frustrated, his hands still on Shiro's shoulders where he had collapsed. They were pushing too hard, too much, too fast, but what else could they do?

Hunk reached the group of them quickly, skirting into the group from the same place he’d left. He made sure to make noise- _human noises_ \- so the group didn’t spook when he approached. Hunk grunted, stooping over and cleaning his black coated knife on the bottom of his already soiled pants, “Lance is right. We need to move. There’s a big group coming. I’d rather get everyone behind our walls before we try and handle them. If we keep going at the pace we were, we’ll keep just ahead of them enough to be alright.”

So long as there were no stragglers, Hunk could keep the sprinters from reaching the group.

Altea had high walls and a sturdy gate, courtesy of Pidge and himself and their ever growing work-crew. Once everyone was behind them, Hunk could drop back outside and dispatch the group. Or, if they felt so kind, the guards on the walls could use their silenced pistols to put bullets in them, or the spears if they let them reach the fence. Altea had options.

They could decide once they were safe behind the walls.

Allura looked over them both, and then back at the prisoners. "Everyone," she announced. "Unfortunately it's not safe enough to rest much longer."

There was a tired mumble among the refugees, before one of them stood. A young blond with deep blue eyes, her eyes searching Allura’s face. "There are undead following us, aren't there?"

A panic went off. A little spark that had the group of uneasy people undulating in fear.

Allura raised her hands as if to placate it. "Yes, but if we leave now, we can stay ahead of them."

"Is that what your undead friend told you?" Came from the crowd.

"That undead friend rescued you," Matt defended quickly.

"We don't have time for this," Keith interjected.

Allura raised her voice above the murmurs. "I know you are very tired, but we are very close to Altea. I can't guarantee your safety out here for much longer, but once inside the walls, I _can_ assure you will be given fresh clothes, a hot meal, and medical attention. And most importantly, you _will_ be safe."

The blond woman who spoke out first suddenly smiled. "Works for me."

And with her deciding to follow Allura, the other prisoners decided to follow. Probably too weak and tired to fight much longer.

Still, Allura looked touched nonetheless. "Thank you for trusting in us," she said.

And then she moved with Coran and Matt, and some of the stronger of the prisoners, including the young blond, to help some of those who were too weak to get up on their own.

Hunk packed his gear back up onto his back as everyone slowly gained their feet under them. He tightened his belt with a grunt when the weight of his many kits and bags weighed on his pants. The last thing he needed was for his pants to drop while they were walking- he’d probably die of embarrassment. Well- _actually_ die. Re-die? He and Lance were still not sure what was the proper term to use regarding that.

“You alright to carry everything still, Hunk?” Pidge looped her hands around his forearm and tugged gently. “You were limping when you were coming back. I can take the bullet making machinery.”

“It’s heavy, Pidge- you don’t need to be carrying it with those bruises, alright? I’m okay toting it.” He smiled down at her and ruffled her hair. He took the sharp elbow to the soft part of his stomach with a good humored grunt, and just grinned at her without repenting. She hated her hair ruffled- it reminded her just how short she was. “You worry about your load. Once we’re back at Altea, I’ll relax a little. Once I’ve checked over everyone better, anyway.” He sighed. Hunk took a moment and gently wiggled his arm out of her grasp.

“Alright.” She huffed at him. “I’m going to heckle Lance into making sure you rest too. Just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean you don’t get tired.”

“Boy, don’t I know it.” Hunk snorted. “I’ll rest, Pidge. Now, why don’t you go help the others. I’m gonna go get a patrol started and keep an eye on everything.”

“Alright. If you need backup, you just call, okay? I’ll help.”

“I know you will.” Hunk smiled softly at her, and gently ushered her off to help others.

Lance stayed back with Keith until Pidge swapped with him, the smaller girl helping Keith haul Shiro along with the rest of the group. Lance himself ended up scooping up a couple of exhausted kids, the Cuban tossing them up onto his hips with long-practiced ease from being a big brother and an uncle for the majority of his life.

Once Hunk had all of his packs in place, he headed around towards the back of the group, pausing to help people stand when they needed a hand up, much like everyone else was. Together, the group of ex-prisoners and Altea residents got everyone up and going, and headed out at a decent pace.

He took a guarding position at the back of the group, but he didn’t remain stationary. If their group was in any shape to actually handle a horde, Hunk wouldn’t have to run constant perimeter checks. Guns were handy like that. But as it was, they couldn’t outrun a horde if the horde kicked up into a frenzy- and these prisoners couldn’t shimmy up a tree fast enough to escape if it came down to it.

Not that there were any branches any of them could reach. The tall timber had no branches that anyone could grab at from the ground without a ladder, which was something short in supply out on the road, and Hunk knew from experience that it took a lot of effort to lob someone up high enough to reach the branches. The height did make for an absolutely fantastic sniping perch however- though the kickback from the rifle usually knocked Lance right back out of the tree.

So onward the group trudged, heading towards home for some- and a new beginning for others.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: So, our update schedule is actually going to change. We've got enough of a surplus of chapters to go to one per week for now, so... Surprise chapter update change! :D And now we get introduced to someone who will become quite regular~ Romelle and Matt are courtesy of Weenie, and are played beautifully so.
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "In your opinion, what animals would the Voltron crew be?"
> 
> Strider's Answer: Lance: Labador. Hunk: Kodiak. Pidge: Gray Parrot. Keith: Wolf. Shiro: Lion.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS CHAPTER: "What supernatural creatures do you think the voltron crew would be? IE, Zombies, Succubus, Cherub- so on."

The last of the forty plus minute walk to Altea seemed to take forever. People struggled, and the pace slowed, and Hunk had to step in when they had children start flagging behind. The horde got within earshot by the time they reached Altea- but the gates opened without even needing to be prompted from Allura, and everyone filed in quickly without a fuss.

The gates sealed shut behind them, closing off the echoing moans of the undead ambling slowly after them. But, the group of ex-prisoners didn’t even seem to notice the undead. Every one of them was gaping at the land around them- at Altea proper.

The promise of safety Allura had made was absolutely true- and Hunk found himself perusing home with a fresh eye as he ambled off to the side of the tired group and unloaded his gear next to one of the guard shacks.

Altea itself was a flourishing compound, compared to some of the others that tried to get off the ground, so to speak. It was the product of _years_ of work and more struggle and strife than anyone wanted to think about- but it was their greatest achievement brought into being by cooperation and people working together. They weren’t the only ones, however. The Galra compound, which had once been a private trade school dormitory, had once been flourishing too. Though, not in a humane way under Zarkon’s rule.

It depended on the people who took it over, however. A place of learning could become a house of horrors- and a place where the damned had gone to live sentences for crimes committed could become home.

Altea had once been a prison- and as ironic as it was, they’d redone it into a _home_. All around the prison was a sturdy double layered chain link fence- and the fence itself had, over time, been reinforced with layers upon layers of heavy, durable metal panels and layers metal sheeting. The reinforcing stretched about one person length up.

Between the double layers, they’d built a raised catwalk so that the patrols could take aim at any zombies lingering just below- and they had corner towers for keeping watch at a distance, with solar powered flood lights for spotting things at a distance. The compound knew about their return and the horde coming without them even needing to warn them.

The front entrance to Altea was all done in cement, which had held up remarkably well over the years despite the few cracks here and there from wear and tear. It was covered in chalk marks from the resident children playing out front- hop scotch was visibly etched in multiple places, and someone had drawn a dinosaur in a princess dress off to one side.

The walls of the former prison were also in the process of being slowly painted. Altea was _home_ for many. For some, it was the first and only home they’d had in years- it _wasn’t_ a prison anymore and they didn’t want it to look like one.

So getting paint on supply runs was a must. Paint was a surprisingly common thing to find- but it wasn’t a food or a water, so of course the people wouldn’t be seeking it out.

Peeking out from the top of the first building was large, flat panels- sparkling in the fading light. And visible inside the building proper was actual lights- not candles, but _actual_ electricity and florescent lights.

Through a large double door archway was Altea proper. The prison was large, with multiple buildings in the compound. The primary building held most of the bulk supply rooms, as well as the medical ward that Hunk had taken over. Pidge had taken over a couple rooms for herself to make a science lab- and Hunk’s mechanical lab was also there. One half of the lower floor in the primary building was basically theirs for tinkering and the like- but no one really minded, since it was them and a scant handful of others who kept the compound up and running.

The mess hall was also there, but on the other side of the building. The upper floors of the primary building held housing for the original group who had founded Altea- though there were also extra rooms and space for when the other buildings ran out of space.

However, they hadn’t even filled one of the other buildings in the compound yet- everyone was able to spread out and take space to themselves, so long as everyone knew what cell block they were in just in case there was an emergency.

Altea was one of the most technologically advanced of the surviving communities- and they were ever growing. They had solar power, would eventually have heated showers, and soon they’d even be self-sustaining with food. At least of the garden variety, which would lessen the load on Olkarion, who provided food and trade for many communities.

They’d turned many of the walking yards once used for exercising the prisoners into fields and gardens, and were in the process of trying to increase the size of the flock of hens they kept in one of the other walking yards. The coop they’d shambled together provided eggs and poultry from time to time- but they hadn’t managed to get hold of any larger livestock.

Most of the larger ones had gone feral- but they had people out trying to get some. Cows would be fantastic- or even goats. Goats milk was nutritious, and they were much less dangerous than cows.

And they cost less to feed- they’d have to expand their borders to make a hay field, or pasture for such things outside their fences.

The reality of true freedom hadn't set in for a majority of the prisoners. They were looking around in stunned silence. Some with tears streaming down their faces.

“Welcome to Altea.” Coran’s boisterous voice hadn’t lost any of it’s cheer despite the grueling walk, or the fact he’d ended up practically carrying an exhausted prisoner the last twenty minutes of their walk. “If you’ll come with Allura and me, we’ll get you all to the medical ward to be checked over, and then we can get you cleaned up, into some nice fresh clothes, and a meal in you. Hunk, why don’t you go put things away and clean up some so you can get started in the kitchen? If we need you in medical, we can give you a call.”

One elderly woman startled at the soft touch of Allura's hand on her arm, before rubbing at her face as she allowed Allura to lead her towards the medical ward.

Hunk paused in the middle of unloading his supplies, hefting his pack back up towards his shoulders almost like he was uncertain. His eyes- made dark in the growing darkness- flicked over to Coran. “Are you sure? I don’t think anyone here needs anything major tended to, but...”

“We’re _all_ good at stitches by now, my lad. You’ve practically beat proper basic wound care into our heads by now.” Coran joked with a jovial grin and a laugh. “You go get started on making dinner. You’ve got quite a lot of food to cook up, but I imagine you’ll have it done by the time we get everyone fixed and cleaned up and into new clothes. Take… _Hm_ …”

“Not me.” Pidge tilted her head, already excusing herself from kitchen duties before she bumbled around and botched something in there. Unless it came in a can and was microwaved, Pidge did not make it. “I’m better served in medical than I am bumbling around in the kitchen like an oaf.”

Coran nodded. Most of their group couldn’t cook. He liked to think _he_ could cook, but no one ever liked to eat anything he made. “How about we take volunteers then?”

"I'm going to start sorting out some clothes," Matt announced to Coran as soon as he mentioned the word volunteer. He didn't like medical stuff, despite how good he was at it, and he certainly wasn't good in the kitchen. Similar to Pidge, if it wasn't microwaveable or in a can, he would probably butcher it.

He didn't mind sorting through clothes and getting prisoners set up in their private cells though. Might sound like a boring job, but he was good at keeping things organized.

Matt made a mad dash to avoid Coran before he could protest him avoiding medical work too. He'd just drop off his weapon and supplies later, after the prisoners were situated.

And of course, Coran couldn't ask Keith. The man was wrapped up in Shiro right now. His arm wrapped around the other and keeping the weakened refugee on his feet, talking low and soft, and standing off in the distance; apart from the group and in their own private little world.

“I don’t mind helping-” Lance shifted, and rotated the two kids on his hips as he watched Matt escape, “I just need to drop these little ones off at the medical bay so they can get checked out.”

“No.” Hunk chimed in with a rough shake of his head. He normally liked to hang out with Lance in the kitchen, even if Lance was more inclined to burn things than to cook them. Lance was okay enough at cutting vegetables- though Keith was better. It wasn’t his cooking skills that Hunk valued, but simply his company. “His arm is bleeding again, and it needs to be cleaned and possibly stitched if it tore any deeper. I can operate the kitchen by myself, Coran. You work on getting everyone to medical- I’ll get gear put away and do inventory once I clean up and get dinner put on.”

Hunk _did_ need to clean up. His shirt had stained the dark skin of his chest to a dusty black tone with his blood- and his legs were still stained with his blood. And god, he smelled like death from the blood clinging to him. Washing off and eating a bit more would force his body to heal up even more.

However, Coran's request wasn't made in vain.

"I could help," one of the refugees spoke. It was the same one who had spoken out before. Out of all the prisoners, she looked the most put together. There was some grime on her clothes, her feet looked a little cut up, and she was exhausted, but she was smiling. Her smile was weak, but her eyes were willing and determined.

“That would be lovely.” Coran smiled at her. “Thank you. If you don’t mind assisting Hunk in the kitchen, then the rest of us will make our way to medical and get started there.”

And there were a few others; refugees who still had some life to them. The ones who weren't starved to skin and bones, or so sick and injured that they could hardly stand. The ones that were a little wounded, and a little dirty, but more than willing to help and pull their weight as they were infinitely grateful they had been given their freedom and their _hope_ back.

"My name's Romelle," she said, approaching Hunk. Her eyes drifted to the black blood staining his pants, and she did her best not to pale or to look scared. She had a feeling she did a bad job of it, but... At least she tried.

It was this zombie who had helped rescued them, after all. Despite what horrors the apocalypse had shown her, and the pit Zarkon had thrown her into, she had enough sense not to be rude to someone who had most definitely saved her from a short life full of pain and suffering.

Still, he was a zombie, and it was more than just a little instinctive to be _terrified._

Hunk watched the collective group begin to move, slowly ambling off towards the main building and following after Allura and the older woman she was helping. He finished loading his gear back up, and moved to collect the discarded gear that had been shed so he could bring it up and organize it.

Normally, he’d have had the guard shift bring up all non-essentials on their rotation up, particularly if he was going to medical- but since Hunk had been excused from medical and instead was going to clean up and cook, Hunk didn’t have a problem bringing as much gear up with him as he could on the first trip. Besides, in taking time to gather gear, it would have given the majority of the group time to shuffle safely into the building and head towards medical.

He glanced up at the woman who had volunteered to stay behind with him as he hefted his load of gear up, his bare chest rolling with flexing muscles as he shifted his load. He’d dropped a lot of weight when he’d been sick initially, but his body didn’t really change much. His muscles had a bit more definition from the time he’d been sick- but he couldn’t seem to gain or lose much mass.

“So, Romelle.” He said, rolling her name across his tongue and tasting the obviously foreign ring to it. Or at least, new age ring to it. Allura was also foreign and new age- same with Coran. Still, Hunk’s skill with languages let her name slide off easily enough. Well, hopefully.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave her a small smile. Thankfully, there had been more than enough time for his mouth to clean itself on the walk back, so his teeth were pearly and white like they should to have been. It probably wouldn’t have boded well if he’d have smiled with human blood and tendons stuck in his teeth. “Well- formally, anyway. I’m Hunk, but, uh...” His cheeks darkened a blackish hue with his slightly embarrassed flush. Of course she knew who he was- his name had been popped off probably even more often than Allura and Coran’s names had been. “You probably knew that.”

Perhaps it hadn't fully hit her when she first met Hunk. Or maybe she hadn't noticed, too preoccupied with the idea of _out_ to care all that much about the man in front of her. Then again, in her defense, he hadn't been bleeding black when she first met him, and other than the cold hands, she wouldn't have known he was dead.

So, when Hunk smiled at her, she _stared_ , her eyes widening almost comically at the unnaturally white teeth nearly sparkling at her. Her stare was full of a strange mix of terror and confusion.

Here he was, blushing and introducing himself, like a _human_ though, and it was baffling. Blushing like a bruise, which was _also_ horrifying in its own right. And she was silent for a few awkward second, before she decided to just go right for the throat. "You're a _zombie?_ " She stated, as if trying to convince herself.

Hunk shuffled a little, watching the last of the group entering the building. He tipped his chin towards Romelle, the bandages around his throat pulling just a bit. “Well- yeah.” He hedged awkwardly. Boy, that was definitely awkward. He could see how nervous she was about him being what he was- but he couldn’t change himself. “Come on. Lets go. I know Matt’s getting clothes, so we can get you a pair from him before I show you to the showers, and we can both get cleaned up a little bit.”

Hunk started off towards the doors to the main building, glancing back at the line of guards along the fence who were now taking care of the zombies pressing at their fence. One of them gave him a wave, and he offered as much of one as he could back.

“Hunk!” The man called. “Don’t worry about the rest of the shit on the ground. I’m off in twenty, so I’ll bring it in for you!”

“Thanks Gray!” Hunk smiled back at him.

Fear gave way to an intense kind of curiosity. Or maybe it was just confusion. Romelle acknowledged his mention of clothes, and a shower, but her mind was currently spinning and trying to find answers to this as she watched Hunk interact with the guard named Gray.

How could Gray just wave casually at a _zombie_!? How was a zombie cooking for anyone and talking to her!? This was _absurd._

Hunk’s footsteps were heavy under his load of gear as he turned away from the wall, and Hunk made it half way to the building before he realized he hadn’t clarified something very important to Romelle. His eyes widened, and he flicked his gaze almost frantically down to her. “Oh- fuck, I forgot to say. The showers- I mean, they’re all in one room, but don’t worry, yeah? We’ve put up these divider walls, so you can have privacy and stuff. Though the water’s cold, it’s better than nothing. Hot water is my next project. I, uh, I can wait for you to finish washing up though if you’re not comfortable with me being a couple stalls over. Some people don’t, _y’know_...”

Some women didn’t like to shower in the same room as men. Some men didn’t like to shower with other men. Most of them didn’t like to shower with a sentient zombie anywhere in the room with them. Their original group was mostly the exception- Lance was often a saint and helped scrub Hunk’s back when Hunk had blood that needed to be removed and it ended up somewhere he couldn’t reach.

When Hunk turned back to her, she held out her hands and shook her head. She got it, truly. He was looking out for her, in case she was uncomfortable with shared showers. Right now though, the gears in her mind were still stuck on one crucial thing.

"Hold on," she told him. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're a _zombie_ , never-mind a _nice_ one." When she dropped her hands again, she was staring. Again. "How are you talking to me? How are you even alive!?" Her nose wrinkled. "Or, I guess I should phrase it: how are you less undead then the others are?"

And then she glanced up at the cat walk they passed. "And how is everyone so casual about this!?" She added. "They should be terrified! _I_ am," which was quickly followed by a, "no offense."

Yet, here she was, walking beside him anyway. There were tells that she wasn’t comfortable. Her eyes never seemed to leave him for long. Her shoulders were tight, and her hands were fiddling with the tear in the front of her shirt as they walked.

She had seen plenty of horrors during the apocalypse, and plenty more terrible things at Zarkon's camp. Not enough to forget, however, that Hunk had been the one to rescue her. She wasn't so jaded and cold yet that she didn't notice how the others who had brought them here had accepted Hunk readily enough.

The gears started working again. Clunky at first, but smoothing out as she accepted the absurdity for what it was.

Romelle was cautious, but she was brave, and she was willing to _try_. And, unfortunately, probably sounding _awfully_ rude, she realized with a flush.

"Sorry," she added, as Romelle followed him into the building. "I didn't intend to sound so rude it's just... I never even imagined a zombie could be anything other than, well... _you know_."

Hunk listened to her as she babbled at him and seemed to be thinking. He could see her fears plain as day on her face as he stomped up into the building, and headed to the left instead of the right. His footsteps were loud on the hard tile inside the building, and his broad shoulders hunched a little bit, as if to make himself smaller to frighten her less.

Inside of the main building was, surprisingly, incredibly clean. But they’d been here long enough to scavenge cleaning supplies. Hunk knew that keeping disease out of their community also hinged on having a clean living space- so they kept it mandatory to have the buildings be kept clean. Rats and other pests did _not_ need to become a problem for them.

“It’s...” Hunk paused at her apology. “Romelle, honestly, it’s _okay_. I won’t take offense. Believe me, I’ve heard _worse_ \- and really, it’s okay to be afraid.” Words hurting meant he was still human enough, after all. “Honestly, the only one who wasn’t terrified of me at first was Lance, and that’s a story for it’s own time.”

He stopped at the first of their storage rooms, and shrugged off his packs. He was very, very careful with the bullet press, setting it down almost reverently so he could tinker with it later. He left the coolers attached to his belt-loops. He’d drop them off in the kitchen when they passed the back door to it for the showers.

He straightened, and rubbed a hand against one of his bare shoulders. Broad fingers kneaded at his muscles. He might not get aches, but the straps did cut in to his skin and cause discomfort. He wasn’t immune to that, unfortunately. His legs were killing him- a good soak would help with that, as well as eating more. But, he needed to deal with kitchen duties before that.

Romelle wasn't sure _why_ she hadn't expected that, but she hadn't. A zombie telling her it was okay to be afraid of him almost made her laugh too. In fact, she might have, if the very thing still wasn't so surreal to her.

Instead of laughing or doing anything really, she paused and watched him as he put away his bags in storage. Lots of bags, too. Heavy bags; if the thunk it made even as Hunk tried to lower it carefully was any indication. And the realization of just how strong he was, _inhumanly_ strong, really didn't help to ease her terror of him.

He stood back up to face her, and Romelle's eyes lowered to his hand smoothing out an ache against his shoulder, before snapping back up to his face. Did zombies feel pain? She never really thought about it. Not when she was running for her life or killing them.

“Lets see if I can answer some of your questions, yeah?” He flicked honey-amber eyes to her as he stepped back out of the storage room again. “I mean- as much as I can. Pidge and I are still trying to answer some of those ourselves, y’know? So, I’ll talk while we walk. Matt should be down this way in the clothing room. We’ll stop there first, get you something that fits, and then continue to the showers.”

Hunk started off again, lifting a hand to card it through his hair, tugging out his hairband so he could roll it up and put it in the wash. “Alright. Questions- you popped off _quite_ a few. Lets go in chronological order and see what I can answer. Yes. I’m a Zombie. I have no heartbeat, no pulse, my body temperature is generally cold, and I am very, very much dead. Hence why my throat can be torn out, and I’m not a corpse on the ground.” He motioned to the bandages around his repairing throat. “As for how I’m doing _any_ of what I’m doing, that’s still something Pidge and I are trying to figure out. She has a theory that my… _virus_ … is a mutation of sorts, sort of like the weird undead that have been popping up over the years. We don’t have the advanced machinery to actually prove it though. Our microscopes aren’t powerful enough to see micro-bacteria.”

That was still something they were trying to get hold of. Pidge wanted to work on a cure- it was her ultimate goal. They were trying to work on making a microscope out of many, many microscopes that they’d scavenged from high school and college laboratory campuses that would be powerful enough to see the micro-bacteria that the Zombie Virus seemed to be made of.

"Pidge is the one you came for?" Romelle murmured as she resumed following Hunk again. She recalled the young girl who had clung to Hunk the second he had opened up the cage. The one who had been brought in recently, spitting all sorts of insults. Some of them colorful enough to make even the coldest of the prisoners blush.

Hunk nodded to answer her newest question regarding Pidge. “Yes, she was. Well, initially. We didn’t know Zarkon had that many prisoners.” He was so, so glad that asshole was dead. “Anyway- not _everyone_ gets used to me, Romelle. Some people do- the group that I was with today have been with me for years now. You’ll see, once you get out and about mingling with the rest of our community, that some...” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and sighed through his nose. His hands slid down and into his pockets as he sauntered down the hall. “Some aren’t comfortable with me still. And that’s okay!” He reassured her.

He glanced back at her. “I don’t expect everyone to like me, Romelle, or trust me. Everyone’s fear is understandable. I mean...” He sighed. His eyes slid away, and he blew out a hard huff of air. Mostly the only thing that bothered him anymore was when people forgot that he used to be human too. Everyone seemed to forget that before shit went to hell, he’d been human, like them. He’d had dreams, aspirations- and he still had feelings. “You’ll form your own opinions in time, I wager.”

Her attention shifted again to his face at the sound of his sigh. She never noticed that zombies _breathed._

He was so... _alive_. It was the hardest thing for her to grasp. Naturally, she wanted to trust the kind man who had saved her, who was kind and considerate of her feelings, animated as he talked, and genuine with his honest answers. But, he was also dead, throat bandages stained a little black from where the wound had bled through before it started to heal, and skin so cold she could feel it despite the distance she kept between them.

The dead meant pain, and fear, and sorrow. The dead was the reason she lost her family. The dead was how a man like Zarkon rose to power and she found herself treated like a dog after being kidnapped by his men.

... But the dead... That wasn't Hunk's fault.

"... It's just hard to wrap my head around," she finally spoke. "Usually I'm running from zombies, not _talking_ to them." Romelle was quiet a moment, her brows furrowed slightly. "I don't think zombie is a good word for you, actually," she muttered. "You're not like them you're just... Dead. Kinda?"

That made him pause a little. Hunk could absolutely agree with not being used to talking to Zombies- he certainly wasn’t used to being a talking zombie, and he’d been dead for years. “Well… That’s… accurate. We don’t really have a good term for me other than Zombie though.” Hunk mumbled softly back to her.

Her brows seemed to sink a little lower at that, but she didn't say anything else as Hunk walked on ahead.

Hunk could hear Matt rooting around in the clothing room as they drew near, and he drew out a hand to knock on the door so he didn’t startle Pidge’s big brother. Spooking anyone now generally got someone’s nose broken. Or a knife into flesh. “Hey, Matt?” He hummed, a soft rumble tickling in his lungs. “Need to snag a set of clothes for Miss Romelle out here. She’s gonna help me in the kitchen after we clean up.”

The laundry room had been turned into a makeshift clothing store, thanks to Hunk and Pidge. They helped designed little racks out of scavenged metal where clothes that others found while out on their travels could be washed and hung to dry. They were organized by size, type, and color of course because, as Matt and Pidge would say, 'what are we, animals?'

Water was a bit more of a precious resource, so washing was done by hand to conserve it. And the dryers were avoided to let the energy flow to the more important things, like lights and the kitchen. So the machines had all been pushed aside and replaced by tubs; some taken apart by either Hunk or Pidge for whenever they needed parts.

The soft knock pulled Matt's attention, and he grinned, arms already full of clothes he had picked to deliver to the med bay. "Whats up?" He replied, placing the folded stack on one of the tables before walking around it as Hunk opened the door.

“Just bringing Miss Romelle by to get a change of clothing.” Hunk chuckled and slid into the room, careful not to knock over the racks upon racks of clothing they had set up. He settled back against the wall, content to watch Romelle and Matt sort out clothing unless he was needed. Hunk needed to clean before he really did too much rifling around. Zombie blood did not like to come out of fabric.

Romelle joined Hunk, her eyes widening at the sheer volume of clothes that was in the room. "Wow..." She murmured. In fact, everything about the prison turned community was incredible.

Matt turned a smile to her, and it was warm. "If you wanna poke around and pick something out that you like, go ahead." He made a sweeping gesture to the rows behind him. "None of these are claimed."

Romelle hesitated, almost as if confused. "I can pick something?" She asked.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, unless you want Hunk or I to do it. I'm pretty good at matching clothes being a big brother and all, but _this_ guy," Matt jerked his head at Hunk as he leaned against the table, smile stretching. "He can cook, but his fashion sense _definitely_ needs some work." He laughed, but it was warm, clearly teasing. Matt’s chestnut eyes were practically twinkling with mirth as he looked over at Hunk. "I mean, did you see the Rambo headband?"

Hunk was absolutely used to Matt’s teasing. Matt and Pidge were one of the first newly introduced to their group to warm up to him and include him in their teasing. Lance, of course, had teased him, but they’d been friends before and there was the rapport from before he’d turned.

Which was why he let himself be drawn in when Matt sassed him about his sense of style. It would also be good to let Romelle know that they were a fairly laid back group.

“Hey!” He might not have the headband on now, but his hand slid to his forehead as if to defend it anyway. “My headband is awesome! I’ve got an awesome sense of fashion. It’s just not like what you think is awesome.” If Hunk could have blown a raspberry without splattering what amounted to plague-spit everywhere, Hunk absolutely would have. As it was, he briefly stuck out his tongue at Matt, not at all upset by the teasing however.

Romelle didn't laugh. Her gaze flickered nervously between Hunk and Matt. "You're sure?"

Matt stopped chuckling and cocked a brow. "Yeah, of course."

Hunk frowned, and tilted his head. He inhaled softly, nose twitching just softly. He wasn’t familiar enough with her scent to tell all of her subtle emotions yet- but nervousness and the faintest flickers of anxiety all had the same sour stink no matter who’s scent it stained. He glanced between her and Matt, watching quietly to see what Romelle would do.

Romelle fidgeted with her hands again.

Sensing her hesitation, Matt shared a look with Hunk before picking himself up on to his feet again. Her apprehension sobered him immediately. "Hey, is something wrong?" He asked, his voice softer now.

She debated with herself a moment. Brows heavy. Eventually she pulled her gaze back up. "It's just... I haven't _done_ anything yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Zarkon... He didn't give us anything unless we did something for him first." Romelle sounded so small. Vulnerable.

Matt's smile faded into a frown, his brows furrowing.

Romelle _looked_ okay. Less starved than the others, less grimy. Still, she had been a prisoner, subjected to the cage and Zarkon. Still, Matt realized then, it must have left a lasting impression. And the very thought that Romelle was unsure of afraid to pick out clothes for herself, such a basic freedom, made his blood boil.

Zarkon had wanted to do this to his sister. His own _flesh and blood_.

He was so fucking glad he was dead.

Hunk’s brows tightened as he listened to them talk. He could only imagine what Zarkon would ask them to do for him in order for them to get anything. Given the fact that they’d been stuffed into cages like dogs into kennels, and made to wallow in their own filth with barely any food or water to live off of… They must have had to do something absolutely horrible to be given anything _more_.

“Romelle.” Hunk’s voice was soft and he let his shoulders slump so that he was not so large. “You’re part of the community now, for as long as you want to stay with us. Altea isn’t like the Galra Compound was, Romelle. Here, clothing, food, proper housing, medical care- it’s all basic human rights. The only thing we _ask_ that people actually do is basic community chores- and everyone does them, even me and Matt. We all sweep, mop, and take turns doing clothes washing and feeding the chickens and doing dishes. I mean- hell, we’ve got a lot of people here, and that’s a _lot_ of dishes every day.”

Warm honey-amber eyes watched her, and Hunk lifted one hand to motion to the clothing racks. “But nothing here is required of you if you’re not up to it, Romelle. You don’t have to do anything too stressing. Those of us who are up to it venture outside the walls- but we don’t require it of people who we know aren’t up to the stress of it.”

Not even half of their population did supply runs, honestly. Hunk, Lance, and Keith were the ones who did most of the runs anymore- they were the quickest team, and despite Lance and Keith fighting so often. In turn for not doing supply runs, the vast majority of their population did guard rotations, but it was almost commonplace nowadays to be able to kill zombies. If you couldn’t kill a zombie, you usually didn’t survive very long, after all.

Hunk glanced to Matt, and then shifted off the wall he’d taken up leaning against. “Please- choose whatever set of clothing you’d like, Romelle. We’ll get you and everyone else multiple sets of clothing probably tomorrow- but since we’re going to the kitchen right after washing up, one set is easier to carry.”

For a moment, Romelle looked almost as if she didn't believe him, glancing at his outstretched hand as if it was a snake that would turn and strike her down at any moment.

"It's true," Matt encouraged.

Her eyes flickered to him, and then back to Hunk and his kind eyes and kinder smile. And slowly, hesitatingly, she turned back to the clothes before her and stepped foreword. She swallowed thickly but kept going, courageously fighting what she had learned, giving a flicker of trust to the men behind her.

“Speaking of clothes… Matt?” Hunk looked down at himself.

His shirt was entirely gone- turned into tattered blood-stained bandages for his neck. His pants were pocked with bullet holes and the black material stained even darker with his rancid smelling blood. Hunk needed new clothing- and it would take entirely too long to run up to his room.

“Do we have an extra set that’ll fit someone my size? Pidge shredded my shirt, and I’ve gotta go cook, so I can’t have all this blood on me in the kitchen. It’s not sanitary.” His nose wrinkled a little. Unsanitary kitchen habits drove him absolutely insane. “I just need some pants and a shirt- I’ll wash them good before I return them.” Hunk always did when he had to borrow clothing. Given the fact that he had to change clothing frequently for sanitary reasons, Hunk had gotten good at boiling water to wash his clothing that he had borrowed in.

Matt watched her, his expression concerned. He couldn't imagine what the other prisoners must think. But he made no sudden move or sound, letting her go at her own pace until she was standing before a rack.

Finally he pulled his eyes back to Hunk, and he made a face. "Dude, you gotta stop ruining your clothes."

“I’d stop ruining my clothes if people would stop ruining my skin.” He rolled his eyes right back at Matt. “It’s not _my_ fault I bleed tar.”

Moving back around the table, Matt gave Romelle some space as he moved towards another one of the racks. "I don't even know if I have anything else that will fit a giant like you! Finding clothes in your size is damn near impossible, man."

“Don’t I fucking know it, man. Why do you think we raid any department store while we’re out? I go through clothes like a toddler in a growth spurt.” Hunk heaved a put upon sigh.

Chuckling, Matt shuffled through some shirts and pants before finding a set, and then walked back over to the resident zombie. Though be made sure to stop and grasp a couple of towels too before he handed them to Hunk. As he pushed the fabric into his friends chest, he gave him a look, tone almost scolding. "You better wash them good."

Hunk tucked them under his arm, clothes on one side and towels on the other. “You know I will, Matt.”

Romelle had finally picked out a sky blue dress. She walked over, almost as if she was in a daze, holding it tight in her hands like she thought someone might take it.

"Nice," Matt complimented, his smile soft.

"You're really sure?" She asked.

"You don't owe us anything, Romelle. We're all just trying to survive out here together, which means we gotta work together, and treat each other like family. So, that's what we do." Matt replied. "I'm absolutely sure."

The blonde blinked rapidly, and then turned away, heart overflowing into her eyes. The realization of freedom was truly sinking in and causing her lower lip to tremble as she looked down at the new and clean fabric in her hands. And she tried, desperately, not to let it overflow as she hugged the dress to herself, but she ultimately failed to stop one or two tears from falling down her face.

" _Thank you_ ," she whispered.

"No need for that either," Matt replied, waving it off. "Alright, I gotta head up with the first batch of clothes for everyone in medical." He heaved the clothes up into his arms with a slight grunt, before starting out the door. "I'll see you guys at dinner."

“See you, Matt. Give everyone my best.” Hunk waved him off.

Romelle watched him go, the tension in her shoulders fading. Tears too. Replaced by a weak smile. "... This almost feels like a dream," she murmured. Showers and clothes and getting medical treatment... It had all seemed to beyond the realm of her reach. Now it wasn't. It was all right here for her to have if she wanted it. And that felt more amazing than any words could describe.

And _food_ too. Hunk was gonna offer them _food_! She had gone so long without any kind of meal that--

Wait a minute.

"You _cook_?" She blurted, and the look of trying to understand was back on her face. That burning curiosity and confusion- her fierce _spirit,_ a little rattled and weakened by the prisoner bars that had kept her captive, but coming back stronger now that she was beginning to realize she was _free_ now. "How? I thought the dead ate..." She trailed off, hesitating. "... Do you? Or can you eat with us like normal?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: This chapter is a direct take off from last chapter- and there is some naked people here! :D Hopefully ya'll enjoy just as much as last week.
> 
> Weenie Notes: If ya’ll weren’t thirsty af for our boy Hunk before you certainly will be by the end of this one xD
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK!: "What supernatural creatures do you think the voltron crew would be? IE, Zombies, Succubus, Cherub- so on."
> 
> Strider answer: Shiro: Komainu.  
> Keith: Firebird  
> Lance: Siren.  
> Hunk: Y'know, for this one, I'm gonna do one I've never seen him referenced as. Lets go Incubus- and if anyone writes an Incubus Hunk (Shunk, Hance, Heith, idc the pairing) story, I would love to read it.  
> Pidge: Dryad.  
> Allura: Dragon.  
> Coran: Dragon. Gotta go with dragons for the alteans- big, powerful motherfucking things.
> 
> Weenie Answer: Shiro: Phoenix, because this boy always be coming back from the dead.  
> Keith: Werewolf. I mean, it’s so obvious.  
> Lance: Mer for absolute sure!  
> Hunk: Golem. Those big made of rock dudes who are like indestructible.   
> Pidge: Nature sprite who happens to like computers, which is interesting enough to be made into a story in and of itself in my opinion.   
> Allura: Totes a Fairy or an Elf, man.  
> Coran: Listen, I know it was done in Monsters and Mana, but this man was perfect as a mothereffing dragon with a glorious mustache 
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK! "If you could give the crew from WMUH (Including undead Hunk) any one super power, what power would it be? Examples being anything from shooting spaghetti from the elbows, to making a thunderstorm every time one of them stubbed their toe."

Hunk had gone to shuffle back out of the clothing room with Romelle, trying to coaxed the dazed and teary eyed woman out without startling her, when her sudden blurt and the return of her nearly burning curiosity startled him. It was like a switch had been flipped, like she’d just realized that it was the incredibly dead man who was going to be cooking her meals for her and for everyone else.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I do cook.” Hunk blinked at her. “Before all of this went down, I actually had an associates degree in the culinary arts. I’m a damn good chef if I do say so myself.” He shuffled a little bit, and then glanced down to the coolers still hooked on his belt loops.

They weren’t full of fruits and vegetables, that was for sure. But, she’d just come from a place that had them pit fighting zombies, watching their fellow prisoners fight and die, and turn, and get added to the masses of the undead they had to fight against. There was no telling how she’d react to knowing he was fed.

Honestly, Hunk would rather not tell her- or any of them, frankly. But they deserved to know, so they could make the choice if they wanted to stay. That was one of his stipulations upon them creating Altea- no one was kept in the dark. Everyone knew about the freezer that was his- it was written on in big, bold sharpie, courtesy of Lance, so no one besides him or his original group got into it. There had been times when Hunk hadn’t been able to get to the fridge. His legs were frequently damaged due to shenanigans.

Hunk’s shoulders slouched, and he shifted his load of clothing and towels to one side so he could rub his hand over the back of his neck. “If you’re going to stay here at Altea, you deserve to know.” He sighed. “C’mon. Walk and talk- more efficient. I smell like a dumpster fire, and if it’s killing me, it’s got to be murdering your nose too.” He set off down the hall, intending to drop off the coolers in the back door of the kitchen first.

“The dead _do_ eat flesh. I don’t eat human unless I have to heal- and even then, we’re… _Selective_ about what’s harvested. If you understand what I mean. We don’t… We don’t hurt good people. Like, the monsters who hurt all of you? Those are what we aim for.” Hunk glanced back at her. “Other times, I eat… Zombie flesh. Which, trust me, is _just_ as gross as it sounds.” Like chowing down on rotten garbage, but he didn’t mention that verbally.

Hunk shuffled to the back door of the kitchen as they reached it. He slid it open, and unhooked the coolers from his belt, tucking them into the kitchen for later storage.

Hearing it, of course, was horrifying. It had her breath catching and had the black blood standing out, alongside his slightly paler dark skin. She saw, as Hunk laid out the truth, the monster that zombies had become in her mind.

As Hunk opened the back door of the kitchen, her wide eyes flipped down to the coolers. Her stomach seized, fear icing it over, shoulders suddenly so tight they felt like a spasm in her back. There was human flesh in those coolers- and, presumably, human flesh in the freezers themselves. Human- someone who, like her, had been living, breathing, only hours ago before they’d been killed and sliced up. Bad guys or not, they’d been human, survivors- and now they were sliced up, _food_ for the undead-

But, she blinked, the door closed, and the moment was gone.

It... It was a hard thing to accept. Except, she was only here _because_ of Hunk. And Zarkon... Zarkon was an evil man who did terrible things. If Hunk only went after people like _that_ , then maybe…

She swallowed. She could accept it, if Hunk went after men like Zarkon. Maybe not right away, but with time.

Her fear subsided, and immediately evolved into disgust. "Oh," she muttered. Her nose wrinkled. "I'm sorry," she said, because whether or not she liked Hunk, no one deserved to force rotten zombie flesh down their throat.

"It’s alright.” Hunk shrugged. “I can't actually eat human food. I can fake it when I have to for social situations, but it... Doesn't _settle_ well. Usually I just drink some water when everyone is eating, and join in for the social setting. I can, however, enjoy the smells of human food. I can smell spices and everything a lot more intensely than before." He glanced back at Romelle as he straightened and continued down the hall towards the showers. "I miss human food. Only pro to being a zombie is I can literally smell if food is bad, so I am probably the only reason we haven't had an epidemic of food poisoning or other diseases." Hunk lifted his hand and tapped his nose. "Zombie sniffer is good for something."

Romelle turned to follow Hunk as he lead her to the showers, the fear and disgust fading. She was back to curiosity as she fell into step with him, the space was between them getting smaller.

"It seems unusually cruel," she spoke up after a moment. "To be a good cook, and to be able to smell things so strongly, but be unable to eat." Her tone was full of sympathy.

“It kind of is.” He admitted. “But I’m used to it.”

The showers weren't far down the hall from the back door to the kitchen and the clothing room. Hunk reached them first, and flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescent light kicked on and briefly blinded him.

As they reached the showers, her fear had vanished. The lights came on, revealing rows upon rows of stalls. Just like with the clothes, she was struck frozen in amazement,  g azing at the shower heads and bright tiles as if this was something out of a dream. 

His palm covered his eyes, massaging them for a moment. "You didn't answer me before. Are you okay with me being in the same room and in a different stall while you shower? Or do you want me to wait until you're done?”

She turned, and for a moment, watched him massage his eyes. Would she be okay with him here? Romelle wasn't sure. She was finding him rather enjoyable for company, despite him being dead. And if she needed help, he'd be right there to give it.

Funny, him accidentally seeing her naked didn't bother her more than the idea of letting her guard down around a zombie. Apparently her priorities hadn't changed all that much after the apocalypse.

Hunk wasn't a zombie though. He was a victim of an unfortunate circumstance; a genuinely _nice_ guy. A guy she owed her very life too.

"... I guess," she finally mumbled, looking away from him and back down at the dress in her hands. A faint blush dusted across her cheeks. "If you promise not to look."

He peeked out at her between his fingers, honey-amber glittering a faintly inhumane hue with the little bit of light that he allowed between his digits. When the light didn’t immediately kill his retinas, Hunk dropped his hand, squinting a little bit at the brightness as his gaze settled fully on her.

“Romelle,” He cocked his head at her blush, and offered her a slow and gentle smile. His cheeks didn’t dust darker- Hunk only gave her a surprisingly earnest look. “I’m not going to look unless I have to for medical reasons, okay? If you’re hurt, or you need my help, don’t hesitate to call for me, okay? It wouldn’t be my first time helping someone bathe.”

His eyes softened along with the corners of his mouth. “Whatever happened to you there, it won’t happen here. We don’t tolerate rapists and pedophiles or _any_ of that garbage. And if anyone treats you like that, or if anyone tries to force you to do something sexual that you don’t want, you let us know and we’ll take care of the problem, okay? Allura in particular has an absolutely zero tolerance policy for it.”

And considering she’d just learned what they did with the ‘evil’ people of the shit hole of a world they now lived in… Well, Hunk had his fair share of rapists cut up and stuffed in his freezer. He’d particularly enjoyed ridding the world of the ones who he and Lance had saved Allura from. They were forever stockpiling what they could, because when winter hit, well, _everyone_ was always a little hungry.

Hunk didn’t want her mind to dwell too much on it though. He’d smelled her fear before- her fear and terror had been rank and sour, and it had made the predator in his brain sing, and made his mouth water. He was incredibly glad that she’d managed to get control of herself and not bolt- running from a predator never made it better.

Hunk was a creature of extreme self control, however.

There was something about the way Hunk looked at her that put her at ease, while at the same time left her feeling distraught.

Romelle had been lucky. She knew she was. The guards had not tried to grab or touch her in the way they had other young woman like herself. They looked, sometimes, with eyes so dark that she felt her blood freeze. There was no doubt in her mind that, eventually, she would have joined the sounds of young woman screaming, or sometimes, the cries of young children that echoed through the kennels.

Her face was pale as she turned away again, blood receding so fast from her skin that it nearly left her dizzy with the echoes of sobs in her ears that almost made it hard for her to hear Hunk as he went ahead. She swallowed, and stepped further in. Bare feet were cold on the tiles, but she was glad for the sharp sensation that made her gasp quietly because it shocked her back to the present.

Hunk stepped up to select a stall for himself, putting his towel and his clothing set on the hanging wire basket dangling from one of the divider walls. “Now… Since there aren’t really doors to the stalls, regrettably, we made the stalls extra long so your clothes can hang here in the basket and not get wet. Doors are a long term goal- meaning, I’ve scavenged all the hinges that I need, but I don’t have all the actual doors. We usually just don’t look when a stall is occupied. Common courtesy, you know. Most of us have it- a little something to remind us that we’re all still human. Or at least _most_ of us.”

Hunk turned to look at her, and offered her the bigger and the softer of the two towels. She hadn’t had luxury in a while- she deserved something nice. Hunk wondered how long she had gone without as shower. She clearly hadn’t been there at Zarkon’s compound for as long as some of the other prisoners- but she had been there for quite some time. Definitely longer than Pidge, but, likely longer than several of the newer prisoners. Something of a middle ground. Enough to damage, but not enough to break, so to speak.

All the more reason for Romelle to get to use something nice, in Hunk’s opinion.

Romelle followed his example, putting her clothes in one of the baskets in the stall directly across from his. Giving a weak smile as he handed her the larger of the towels. The one Matt had given her was definitely too small for Hunk, but she appreciated the softness, and sentiment, of him giving her his.

She had every intention of softly telling him no, but the second her fingers rested on the soft plush fabric, they fisted it. It was probably selfish of her, but she didn't want to give it up.

“All of the showers,” Hunk continued once she’d taken the towel from him. “come equipped with standard shampoo and conditioner that we’ve scavenged. That shit is like, _everywhere_ \- no one thinks to grab shampoo off the shelves in a grocery store, luckily enough for us. But trust me, cleanliness is important to good health, which is why this place is kept clean.”

He motioned to the back wall, which had rows and rows of wire shelves filled to the brim with bottles arranged in size, color, and type, like a department store shampoo isle, “The back wall has all of the specialty shampoos, conditioners, and body-washes. Feel free to use any of them you want- but please, put it back where you found it. I’m usually the one who organizes everything, and some people,” _Lance_ , “like to mess with the organization to play practical pranks on the guy who can’t sleep. Anyway, uh… The controls are marked- for eventually when I get hot water going.”

When he directed her to the back wall, Romelle felt her eyes widening drastically. "Wow," she muttered. "That's a lot of shampoo."

Hesitantly, she put her towel down in the basket, and moved to approach the wall, eyes roaming over the bottles. She remembered some of these designer names. How she used to pay so much for it. Now she could just pluck it off the shelf whenever she wanted... It made Romelle ache in a strange way. Who would have thought she would have missed _paying_ for things.

Hunk sidled backwards into his shower stall, motioning for her to pick and choose any of the many stalls lining the walls at her leisure. He turned his back to her, baring broad shoulders to her, and fished his headband out so he could wash it in the shower with him. With it held in his hands, he slid his fingers to the band of his pants as he toed off his boots. He fumbled lightly with the button, waiting until he heard her start to move before he undid the button and unzipped himself.

Soaps selected, Romelle made it back to her stall. She glanced quickly at the man behind her in his own stall, before putting the soap down and turning away. Her heart was beating a little faster, a nervous fluttering bird in the cage of her ribs. She furrowed her brows and slowly lifted her stiff fingers to peel back the rags from her skin.

They were caked by blood and grime and sweat, stained dark by the blood of the dead. It left a strange itch in her skin as she dropped it on the ground behind her. And she shivered at the cold air, crossing her arms over her chest and peeking over her shoulder again.

Romelle didn't know why she picked this stall. Right behind her, she could see Hunk getting undressed too. He could peek and look whenever he wanted without stall doors. And he was a zombie! Just like those _things_ out there that constantly wanted to eat her. The things she had been forced to fight under Zarkon's rule.

But... _He saved her._

Romelle was more scared of being alone.

She turned away and hooked her thumbs under the hem of her tattered pants to kick them away too. And she reached for the controls like Hunk had shown her to start the water. And the instant it hit her skin, she squeaked at how cold it was. But, it was still a shower. And it felt _good_ to get herself under the spray and feel the water run over her hair and across her skin.

Hunk got himself naked in one swift motion. His boxers looked like they were still okay, so he tossed them into the pile of clean clothes, before turning on the water and setting to washing himself and getting as much blood out of his pants as possible. The black blood flowed like tar down into the drain, but as his legs and chest cleaned off, Hunk was able to see his process of healing.

He was healing- slowly, but surely. The holes weren’t bleeding anymore, which meant there was a high chance that his neck wasn’t bleeding anymore. Hunk would check before he got out- but for now, he had all intents of cleaning himself off as quickly as possible so he could go wait by the door for Romelle.

Under all the blood and grits of travel, Hunk’s body came clean with the slow but dutiful scrubbing of his fingers against the incredibly stubborn blood and road filth- and it revealed a mass of slightly lighter toned scars etched into his skin from his time being dead.

From his left hip stretched a long roping scar that angled up towards his ribs. It was probably his first for sure ‘fatal’ wound, delivered to him by Keith what felt like a lifetime ago when Hunk had accidentally scared Keith. It had been an accident on Hunk’s part, and it was now part of the reason why Hunk intentionally walked heavy everywhere he went. His boots guaranteed that his usual, instinctively predatory steps were usually heard, unless he took extra measures to make sure he was moving quiet. He really didn’t want another repeat of the Keith incident. They’d had to scoop Hunk’s insides back into his body and staple his skin back together until they found something to let him heal with.

He had a smattering of other scars. His body never seemed to keep the bullet holes, for which he was glad. He’d probably be one giant scar if that was the case. His throat had a few from the times he’d had his jugular taken out and had to regrow it. He had stab wounds, bite marks, and slices all up his back and biceps from various times he’d come across survivors who had made attempts to kill him.

They weren’t super noticeable due to his skin tone, thankfully- but Hunk had long ago stopped fussing about scars. He was _dead_. The whole world had gone to hell. His family was dead too. A _malofie_ wouldn’t happen, even if there was someone still alive who knew how to do it- or even if his body would allow ink to stay under his skin.

Like Hunk, Romelle was lost in it. The soft kiss of water running down over skin that hadn't felt clean in far too long. Watching smears of dirt fade off her skin and head down the drain. Romelle let the water run through her long blond hair and moment, before rubbing some out of her eyes and turning to let it hit her back.

And like this, Romelle couldn't help but _look_.

Hunk was before her. He wasn't bad looking; a literal mass of muscle, and shoulders so wide that they dwarfed her. He wasn't skinny. No, Hunk was built like a tank. She should be horrified by that. There was no way Romelle could take in a zombie like him should he decide to eat her.

... But those arms could keep her safe.

He was covered in scars. Little scratches of lighter skin that crisscrossed all over his body; some deeper and uglier than others. They matched her own. Some had been small mistakes where she had cut herself by accident, others were deeper and uglier too where she had been attacked; including the nasty scar around her thigh where Zarkon had stabbed and captured her.

He didn't look, like he promised. He scarred and healed like she did. He smiled and blushed and talked to her so softly and kindly. He cooked, and he cleaned. He was so... _human_ , despite being undead.

Romelle was lost in her head, still staring.

Hunk slowly turned under the cold spray, washing conditioner out of his hair. Before everything had gone to hell, even before Hunk had been in college, he’d always used the two in one shampoos that handled everything for him without him needing to do everything. However, when he’d hit college and befriended Lance, he’d been hit with what their collective group of friends called the ‘bisexual god of beauty care’.

Meaning, Lance had blown into his dorm after having witnessed his showering products, and Hunk had learned more than he ever wanted to know about proper hair care. So- shampoo and conditioner was now his usual routine. He did like what it did to his hair- even dead, Hunk’s hair was still as unmanageable as ever.

As Hunk rinsed the conditioner from his hair, he made absolutely sure that he did not peek. Hunk was intimately aware of where Romelle was- he knew she’d picked the stall right across from him, though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps, he thought, it was a survival tactic. Being alone in a cage was a scary thought, and she was used to being in a cage across from someone.

He could _feel_ her eyes on him, and had felt her eyes on him for several minutes now. It was the predator in the back of his head itching, the sixth sense telling him he was being watched and that he needed to be wary, to be prepared to fight.

By now, Hunk was used to being stared at. Even though common decency said not to stare at people in the shower, Hunk wasn’t really ‘people’ to many of the new denizens of Altea. His status as a person was something he had to earn each and every time a new group came in. He didn’t blame them- he was dead, the same walking menace as the monsters that had overrun their world and caused the apocalypse. Everyone stared, at his large size and his scars.

It was why the hairs on his scalp no longer bristled in response. He knew that Romelle was simply torn between afraid of him, and a deep, bottomless curiosity that few others expressed.

Hunk understood their fear- he understood it better than so many others did. And it let him not be angry with them.

Though- it never did cease to embarrass him when he was facing someone and they didn’t stop staring. He knew what they would see. Hunk still had all of his body parts as a zombie. He hadn’t lost any fingers or toes, he wasn’t decayed or rotted anywhere- it was as whole and hale as everyone else. Completely. And having a woman stare at him from across the shower, at his very bare, very naked front, brought an embarrassed flush to the tips of his ears.

Honestly, the only thing that ever irritated him about being stared at in the shower was the questions that sometimes came after. He really hated it when people seemed to think he’d lost his dick just because he was dead. And the envy he could smell from some of the men was also ridiculous, frankly. Hunk was dead- well endowed or not, he was no threat to any of them, and he knew it. Relationships, family- he couldn’t _have_ any of that anymore.

All he could do was cherish the friendships he had, and help nourish their relationships as best he could. Just because he didn’t have a future anymore didn’t mean that he couldn’t help others ensure they had a future- which was part of the entire reason why he tried to take care of everyone that he could in Altea.

Living vicariously through others also was _absolutely_ an option when you yourself were very, very dead, as well. Keith and Pidge were adorable, for instance, and Hunk loved to watch them be adorably dorky together. It wasn’t the answer to everything, but it was better than nothing.

Hunk heard water slosh across from him.

It took more than just a couple of rapid blinks before Romelle realized just _where_ her eyes had fallen when he’d turned around. _Oh._ He was _big_. All around _big_. Very, _very_ big.

Her face erupted in color, and suddenly she whirled back around. Not that it did any good. The image was now burned to the back of her eyelids, and she found herself morbidly curious while simultaneously horrified at herself.

Was he human enough to still be able to...? Was it necrophilia to think that it was hot that he was so well endowed? Was there something wrong with her thinking that Hunk was really attractive even for a dead person?

She didn't know the answers, but she did know she wasn't about to ask him if he could still... That was rude, and _way_ too embarrassing.

Taking a breath, she forced the thoughts out of her mind so she could focus on the shower instead, moving her hands into her thick wet hair.

When he felt his hair run clean, Hunk took a moment to free his neck of his bindings, and he cleaned his skin of blood there. Like his legs, his neck wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the nerve endings were raw, and his brows furrowed in pain as he cleaned the sensitive regrowing flesh. It wasn’t unlike poking a third degree sunburn with sharp fingernails. Just because he was dead didn’t mean he didn’t feel- all of his nerve endings and senses were still active. Almost hyperactive, in some cases. He was just sort of used to all of the overwhelming input his senses and nerves gave him- and he’d been hurt so many times now that most ‘simple’ pain was something he could ignore.

Getting fresh air to his neck would do it good though, as would cleaning out the old blood and anything that his body had been actively trying to force out. There was no telling what bacteria had been on that wire- and while his virus was vicious and Hunk rarely felt sick, Hunk didn’t necessarily want to become some sort of plague bearer.

Well- _more_ of a plague bearer.

Once Hunk was spotless and his signature headband had been scrubbed clean in some of the same shampoo he’d used to scent his hair, he turned off the water and blindly shuffled his way along the wall with the rack. He found the towel, and quickly dried himself off. Once he’d ruffled his hair into something of a half dry mop which was longer than it looked when it was dry, Hunk combed his fingers through it and tossed it back behind his ears, securing it with the damp headband.

He collected his clothing, and turned his back to Romelle so he could actually open his eyes while he dressed and laced up his boots again. Hunk was good at quickly dressing though- emergencies happened and he’d had to learn to get dressed on the fly. So he was dressed in a pair of sweats and a form fitting tank top within a few minutes. The tank top was actually a size too small, but it didn’t bother Hunk- it still did it’s job and kept most of him covered for decency’s sake.

“I’m going to go wait by the door,” He called, speaking finally as he backed out of the stall, politely keeping his back to her as he gathered his ruined pants and side stepped over to the ‘dirty laundry’ and dropped them there. He’d wash them later that night while everyone else was sleeping. “Don’t rush okay? I know the water is cold, but I’ve been there before. The first real shower in a long time is _heaven_. You’ll warm up in the kitchen if you get chilly, I promise. The stoves are pretty warm, _and_ I can make you something warm to drink too if you like. I’ve got more cocoa powder than I know what to do with most days, and while we don’t have real milk, I can still make a mean hot cocoa.”

Because most of the prisoners had been starved for so long, Hunk couldn’t feed them the rich, hearty meal that his very soul wished he could. That would just make them sick, and they wouldn’t be able to keep it down. However, a nice watered down cinnamon oatmeal would be bland enough and light enough for them. And hot cocoa was liquid- and until they actually got a milk producing animal, the powdered milk they had was not nearly as rich on the stomach.

It was the same meal that had worked before on half-starved survivors. None nearly as bad as Zarkon’s prisoners, surely, but still, Hunk had an inkling it would work.

Plus, Hunk had the horrible feeling they hadn’t even been eating anything so kind as that. He didn’t even know what Zarkon had fed them, and he didn’t want to know. But a light oatmeal and some light hot cocoa would do wonders for bolstering spirits. His mother had used to say that chocolate was a balm for the soul, after all.

Hunk took up post by the door, keeping his back respectfully to the woman in her shower.

It was heaven, like Hunk had said. Something so simple as scrubbing her scalp, feeling the grime and sweat clear as the bubbles penetrated her hair, was like heaven. There hadn't been anyway to bathe in the kennels, and to pour water in a wound to clean it meant to sacrifice the tiny water ration you were given if Zarkon was in a good mood that day. It felt as if she had gone life times without the simple joy of soap.

She wanted to stay there forever and scrub her body and hair and then just sit on the tiled floor and let the water run over her. But the water was cold, and because she was so starved and thinner then she should be, it was starting to permeate into her bones.

And, Hunk had left. She had heard it when the water turned off, looked back over her shoulder to watch him dress. Romelle felt a strange flicker of panic at the thought of being alone there.

He told her not to rush, but his voice had faded while he’d been speaking, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Once the water ran clear, and her skin and scalp stopped itching, she turned the shower off and quickly stepped out. She didn't even seem to care that she was uncovered, eyes seeking out the massive frame of Hunk. She was relieved only when she made out his wide shoulders in the door frame. Romelle sighed weakly, and finally grabbing the plush towel.

She almost moaned at the feeling of it against her skin. It was so  _ soft _ . She shivered against it, her breath sharp and shaky. Staring at the towel as she dabbed it against wet skin, she found that couldn't remember feeling something so soft. Her world had been nothing but pain and rough for so long, that her life before the apocalypse felt like nothing more than a fever dream.

And still, there were times Romelle felt as if this was still like having that dream. Or perhaps she was in some sort of injury induced coma. As she pulled the dress over her head, she was so scared that at _any_ moment she would wake up and be back in that cold cell and hear the sounds of wailing children and snarling zombies waiting to rip her apart.

Romelle had seen where Hunk took his clothes, so she gathered up her own, including the dirty rags, and brought them to the trash can turned hamper. Though, she hesitated with the towel, loathe to be rid of something so soft and warm, even if it was wet. It took a lot for Romelle to loosen the tight knot of her fingers and let it drop.

Then she left; almost. Romelle reached the door-frame, before she gasped a tiny, "oh," and quickly turned back around, remembering in the last second that Hunk had asked her to put the shampoo back. And she wanted to make sure she followed the rules.

Once tucked away where it belonged, Romelle finally stepped out of the bathroom, joining Hunk at the door frame.

Her hair was brighter. No longer dark from sweat and blood, it looped over her shoulder and staining her dress a little as she ran her fingers through it in an attempt to work out month old tangles. Her skin too, though pale and covered in chicken skin from the cold, was free of the smears of human filth and other dirt and grime. Romelle seemed to walk straighter, feeling much more confident now that she was free of the weight of the evidence of her confinement.

Romelle probably wouldn't recognize herself in the mirror now.

"Thank you," she whispered. And as those blue eyes lifted finally from her hair, they were moist with tears that were unshed, yet radiating like the sun reflecting off the surface of an ocean; eternally grateful, and full of such hope.

It was for the shower. For Hunk's kindness. For keeping his promise not to look despite her being so rude. For her  _ rescue _ .

“ You don’t have to thank me, Romelle.” He turned warm eyes to her, and his lips tilted up in an honestly kind smile. Smiles like his were rare now after the apocalypse, where people had hardened and toughened with the things they’d seen and had to do in order to survive. “But… you’re welcome.”

She played with her hair a few more moments, before she bit her lip. Romelle didn't want to get her hopes up too high. Hunk had already given her so much. But, the thought of a steaming hug mug full of something so normal as hot chocolate…

God, did she miss  _ normal _ .

"Do you _really_ have hot cocoa?"

Hunk shifted to face her, sidling more out of the doorway so she had more personal space than she had with his towering frame devouring most of it. His wet headband kept his moist hair out of his eyes as he glanced over at her. They didn’t have community hair brushes, but he’d get her a brush the next time he went out if he had the chance. Hunk was really the only one who bothered to deviate for the small comfort things in life- but he was the only one who could take the risk, honestly.

He blinked slowly, taking in the almost glow to her skin and the clean, pale gold color of her hair even if it was tangled. She looked a lot better now that she’d been properly given the chance to clean up and rid herself of filth.

Without the stench of human waste and lingering layers of terror blanketing her like a particularly overwhelming perfume, Hunk could actually give her the basest of checkups without her ever knowing, too. He took a short inhale, his nose twitching just slightly as he inhaled the smell of freshly cleaned woman.

His mind processed many things- she’d been afraid briefly, but not of him. Something else. Perhaps whatever made her almost rush through the last of her shower as soon as he’d vacated the room to the doorway. Whatever it was, he was sure she’d talk to him if it was something he could help. Otherwise, Hunk’s nose told him that she was malnourished- equating to his predatory hind brain that she would be easy prey. However, while she was malnourished, she didn’t seem to be infected with any bacteria or diseases, thankfully.

“ I don’t have the instant packets that you might be used to, but I know how to make true hot cocoa.” Hunk gave her what was almost a cheeky grin, before motioning her to follow him back down the way they’d came. His boots were heavy thuds compared to her almost silent steps- like little butterfly wing beats through the air. Though, Hunk’s body was moving a little stiffer from having been under the chill water and not having stretched after. “I wasn’t kidding before when I said I have more cocoa powder than I know what to do with. The same goes with sugar and sugar substitutes and other ingredients.”

Hunk folded his arms behind him briefly, and rolled his shoulders to stretch and pop the joints. The cold had made him stiff- he had to work himself loose again. None of it was pleasant, but at least he hadn’t been standing for too long to the point that his joints had locked. That was almost excruciating when that happened.

The strange sound coming from his shoulder as he rolled his limbs had her eyes shooting towards it. She had no idea Hunk could smell her so well- no idea that he would smell the surge of anxiety that came with her wide eyed gaze. What she did know what that sound was _horrible_. It reminded her of the pit; of Zombies cracking under the hard ends of her weapons. The noise reminded her of the smell of death and dust, and the buzzing roar of a crowd demanding blood.

Hunk smelled her anxiety almost immediately- but calling it out never usually helped anyone. The best case scenario was usually to just keep talking and hope it was enough to help calm them. Hunk had practice keeping his voice mellow and calm, to encourage others to do the same through simple casual talk.

“Given that I’ve also traveled with a group outside of Altea, I know the immediacy of finding things you can eat quick without having to take a lot of time to prepare.” He continued after his shoulders made a ghastly noise, and he rolled them back up into a more comfortable position. “However, that left behind a lot of supplies people couldn’t immediately eat. Canola oil, spices, flour, cocoa powder, sugar, powdered milk, protein powder, baking powder- all ripe for us to collect. And trust me, I do collect like, everything. I’ve got rooms lined with supplies that were safe enough to keep and I always make room for more when I find more. Baked goods might not meet the nutritional requirements the body needs to be healthy, but between nothing and a cake, calories _are_ calories.”

And sometimes baking a literal mountain of sweets enhanced with protein powder was enough to buy him the time to get a hunting party together to go out and get fresh venison or elk for the prison. Or bread- bread was a good staple too while he got them red meat. There were massive herds of deer and elk, if one knew how to track them. Fish was good food too, if their nets at the river were fruitful. The nets however were more iffy. More than once, they’d reeled in a zombie that had gone for a dip further up stream. Fishing wasn’t as lucrative for them as the hunting itself was.

Honestly, fish wasn’t their biggest food supply, but they tried to get everything they could. Meat could be salted and smoked for storage, and thawed out of the freezers when they needed it- the salt quarry up in the mountains was neutral ground for all of the communities, so they shared the work of keeping it cleared out so they could have access to it. Everyone was more than tired of jerky by now, but jerky was calories and food was food and made great travel rations. Same with fruit leather.

Fresh travel rations were better than them trying to eat what they scavenged. It was only a matter of time before someone caught a disease from a bad can of preserved food.

Again, Romelle was grateful for the cold floor on her bare feet, and Hunk's gentle voice as he kept talking. It kept her rooted in reality until the moment was just a flash of memory that she could blink out of her eyes and her deep rooted panic could be expelled with a few shaky breaths. 

"... I love cookies," she managed. Romelle felt a little stupid for saying something so childish in response to the absolute mountain of words he’d spewed, but as it was, her brain was still a bit of a mess and also incredibly lightheaded. The cold that had settled into her bones and made her feel like she was full of steel, heavy and stiff, didn't help. 

At least when she worked her fingers and swung her arms to bring them to life, they didn't grind like they were full of sand, or _pop_ like the sound of a gunshot…

“ Cookies are incredibly popular here too.” He nodded to her, and didn’t say a word otherwise to her panic. “ So yes, hot cocoa is well within your grasps.” He laughed softly, switching his mind back over to the current topic of food. “Eventually so will things like cookies and cakes and other rich things- but you guys gotta work up to it.” He patted a hand against his stomach pointedly. “If you go too fast, it won’t stay down and you’ll be in a world of pain. Some of you guys had been there for a long time as far as I could tell- so we’ll work you up slowly. It’s not my first rodeo helping people recover. We’ll get you back to normal before you even realize it, yeah?”

There was also a moment where Romelle looked up at Hunk apprehensively, unsure of what he meant when he said she could _work_ up to richer things. However, he didn't mean it as her mind, which had been trained to think in such a way, _thought_ he did. And that moment was short lived, ending with the smallest of warm smiles.

Romelle couldn't believe it. He had been dealt an _exceptionally_ bad hand. Not only had he been bitten and died, he found himself roused as the undead with his conscious intact. Yet, instead of letting it defeat him, here he was, standing so strong and doing what he could for people. Hunk was taking out bad men like Zarkon, and helping those like her who were helpless and weak. 

All, Romelle thought, at the expense of himself too. The evidence was in the dark blood she had seen wash away from his neck, and the scars she had witnessed crossing his body like a pot that had been broken and patched together many times over and over again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Hopefully ya'll enjoy the chapter. <: S' a nice little cute break before stuff gets... Not so cute~
> 
> Weenie Notes: This chapter is like a small introduction to the suffering that these poor people endured at the hands of Zarkon. Also, it might have been a sorry excuse for some adorable Hunelle, so uh…. There’s that, I guess xD I’m really glad every seems to be enjoying Romelle so far considering she plays quite an important role for our story!! I hope everyone continues to love her in the future too!
> 
> LAST WEEK'S QUESTION: "If you could give the crew from WMUH (Including undead Hunk) any one super power, what power would it be? Examples being anything from shooting spaghetti from the elbows, to making a thunderstorm every time one of them stubbed their toe."
> 
> As for the answer to last week’s question;
> 
> Weenie’s Answers:  
>  Shiro: The power to fly! He would look beautiful with big white wings, no?  
>  Keith: Fire, cuz this boy is hot, hot, hot. -snorts-  
> Pidge: Clairvoyance, simply because she’s so smart and knows everything already that it seems fitting. Like her predicting and installing counter measures for the virus in Shiro’s arm just “in case” it happened, like she predicted it might. Super, scary smart.  
> Hunk: He already has a super power my dude, he cooks food so good it brings peace to rivaling aliens civilizations xD Nah, but for real, this guy would be awesome if his power was like, being a metal bender or something. Soft guy who moves metal with his mind?? Can’t tell me that’s not BAMF.  
>  Lance: Water, cuz this boy is smooth as an ocean wave -snorts-  
>  Allura: Teleportation. It seems fitting with her ability to wormhole.  
> Coran: Super strength… mostly because the thought of him going “berserk” and smashing the shit out of things while yelling in his very special Coran way cracks me up.
> 
> Strider's Answers: Since we did specify WMUH characters, I'll try and go off of what would be most useful in a zombie apocalypse. <:
> 
> Shiro: Berserker. Tougher skin, incredible stamina boost, and skill to match. Drawback- migraines and sometimes spotty memory.  
> Keith: Kinetic knives. He can move knives, swords, and blades without touching them. He can make a storm of blades if he chooses. Drawback: more blades, harder they are to control.  
> Pidge: Creation: can create anything if she knows exactly how it's made, down to the last molecule. Drawbacks: It's exhausting, and knowing how everything is made is incredibly hard.  
> Lance: Sharpshooter. He can hit any target, anywhere, with any gun, so long as he can get a brief line of sight to lock onto his target. His bullets will curve around corners, chase people down halls- he doesn't miss. Drawbacks: Migraines from hell, and nosebleeds if it's overused.  
> Hunk: Since Hunk in WMUH is undead, he's already got enhanced senses and strength. So, on top of that, we'll go with... Metal Control. Self explanatory there. If it's metal, he can control it- and to some extent, if there's enough iron in one's diet, he can force them to move too. Like mock blood bending, but slightly more painful. Drawbacks: Overuse makes him extra grouchy and hungry.  
> Allura: Animal speak. She can talk to animals, get them to help her find things, or get them to help defend her. Drawbacks: Hunting for food is horrible to her, and she can't stand listening to harvesting day down at the chicken coop.  
> Coran: Shapeshift. He can take the form of anything he sees, inanimate or otherwise. Drawbacks: Everything has a mustache. EVERYTHING.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK!: "What flavors and smells do you associate with each Voltron member?"

The kitchen wasn’t that far of a walk from the bathroom, and Hunk closed his eyes as they reached it. He opened the door, turning on the lights, before stooping to blindly collect the coolers. He opened his eyes, testing the lights, and then shuffled into the kitchen proper once he wasn’t blinded. He made his way over to the side room, and opened it, padding in to the dim light of the incredibly chilly room to drop the cooler on top of his personal freezer, before backing out again. He’d deal with it later- maybe eat some more once everyone was eating properly.

“Alright,” He hummed, closing the freezer room, “ _mi casa es tu casa_. In so much that a kitchen is more a _part_ of a home and _not_ a home itself- ah y’know what, it’s the sentiment that counts.” Hunk shrugged. Semantics were semantics, and that wasn’t the point- he was welcoming her to his domain, his kingdom of sorts. The only place where no one ever seemed to give him any sass or lip- because you didn’t bad mouth the man who fed you. “Anyway! If you just want to keep me company, I don’t mind doing everything. It gets lonely in the kitchen, and I’m used to having folks just come keep me company while I cook- and you’re actually really good company.”

Hunk moved around the large, surprisingly pristine prison kitchen with surprising vigor, almost seeming to come even more to life now that he was in his natural element. He snagged bowls and pots, measuring out ingredients by the pound based on what he knew of how many people he had to feed, tossing two pots onto the stove to boil for the cocoa and the oatmeal.

Romelle felt her chest tighten as they made it to the kitchen, watching him move about with the ease and comfort of someone who knew the place as intimately as their home. She watched him start to prepare to cook for the rescued prisoners when he himself couldn't even eat. 

It didn't escape her that he was welcoming her into his kingdom. Romelle was as honored by it as she was honored to have met someone so kind and giving as Hunk. Undead or not, he had to be the most awe inspiring man she had ever met.

She moved, crossing the distance to stand by his side. A slight flush rose to her face, but Romelle didn’t bother hiding it as she gave him a smile as he reached for one of the pans and she instinctively handed it to him before he could snatch it. "No, no, I volunteered because I wanted to help," she told him. "I wouldn't say I was good enough that I earned a degree, but I used to cook all the time for my little brother growing up."

Hunk laughed softly.  “ I’ll appreciate  any help you can give.” He smiled to her. “ So, do you have any food allergies I should know about? You’d be asked about this down in medical and it’d go on record, but since you came with me to the kitchen, it’s probably best I know now so I don’t accidentally make you sick.” They had a limited supply of epinephrine after all. Expired though it was, it had saved Coran when the fool man had gotten a hive of hornets dropped on him and gotten stung way too many times.

"No allergies," she replied, looking around thoughtfully. "I'll make sure to tell someone down in medical later on," she finished the thought, before finally glancing back at him. She could see the sink, where she would absolutely be washing her hands. Didn't matter if she just came out of the shower, she still had her fingers in her hair on the way here. However, before she could do that, she needed to do something else first. "Is there anything I can use to put my hair up before we start?"

Hunk honestly appreciated her stepping up to help him in the kitchen- though he didn’t really expect her to do it. She hadn’t even had time to rest from being a captive- her body needed to slow down, not speed up. But, he wasn’t going to discourage her from helping him, not when she was making choices for herself likely for the first time.

Hunk glanced at her and hummed, before lifting his hands to untie his headband. “It’s wet, but you can borrow it for the moment. I’ll remember to prepare some hair-ties later if you want to join me again in the kitchen.” He slid it gently to her, before moving to wash his hands since he’d touched something other than the door. “All it does is keep my hair out of my eyes and mark me out to my team when I’m out in the field, so to speak. I don’t actually shed hair anymore. It just grows and regrows rather quickly when it gets yanked out.”

Pidge had an absolute field day with him, honestly. Hunk was one walking, talking, self participating science experiment to her, and anything odd, gross, strange, and or quirky about his biology absolutely fascinated her. Including haircuts and other things- like nail trimmings. She liked to compare the composition of his body against humans, and how it was changing.

She had theories, but they didn’t have the technology to prove anything yet. It was a big time goal to get her the medical equipment she needed for her science experiments, instead of trying to build her a microscope and hoping it could see all the little cellular quirks and facets of the undead virus strain.

"Thank you," she said almost instinctively as he handed her his headband. She accepted it and quickly scooped up her long blond hair, tying it into a messy bun as she listened to him talk. 

He still grew hair? Romelle shifted towards the sink to wash her hands beside him. How did a zombie grow hair? How did any of things Hunk said he could do work? His body was supposed to be dead, and a dead body did not do anything but rot. How did he scar? How did he not look like every other zombie out there?

They were questions she knew he couldn't answer, just as she knew they would be rude to ask. So she kept her morbid curiosity to herself. Though, it was still in her gaze, as much as she tried to hide it, turning gears and intrigue as her hands never seemed to stray from Hunk for long. 

"That's smart," she decided to say, just so Hunk wouldn't think she wasn't listening. "To mark yourself so you stand apart from the others."

“It is- it’s saved me from getting shot many times already. Anyway,” He hummed, turning the faucet off. “If you want to help, you can help me with the oatmeal. Both have to be stirred frequently or they burn. Once the water is boiling, just dump in ten cups of oatmeal, five tablespoons of cinnamon, and five tablespoons of sweetener.”

He dried his hands on a kitchen towel and then shuffled back over to the stove. He expertly scooped up the cocoa powder, spooning several healthy helpings into the pot that was designated the cocoa pot. He also snagged the protein powder, mixing in a couple scoops of the flavorless mix to make the cocoa thicker and richer for their recovering bodies. It would also do good for everyone else to get a little extra protein in their diet.

Following his example, she dried her hands on the other side of the towel before following him back to the stove. "Easy enough," she replied, and started to get herself set up. Her experience was a bit more advanced than this, but she was glad for something simple. Hunk was right, she may be one of the healthier of the refugees, but she was still weak and needed time to recover. 

She set the water to boil and dragged over her measured ingredients to be ready. She then leaned against the counter to wait for the water to be ready, and watched Hunk set to work on the hot cocoa.

He procured his long whisk, and began to vigorously whisk it together with one hand. The other hand collected the vanilla and the cinnamon and sweetener, and mixed in copious amounts of all three ingredients.

There were some things that he was glad of, sometimes. For one, that most people didn’t think to grab baking supplies. He could provide little luxury things for his people here at Altea- little things to make the world that much brighter in such dark times. Chocolate was many things, he knew- and one of those was absolutely a balm for the soul. Chocolate could make things better- if only for a little time.

He sucked in a breath, breathing in the smell of rich chocolate and spices wafting up, and Hunk couldn’t stop the tiny sigh that left him. He could never taste chocolate again, not the way that his human friends could- but Hunk could smell it better than any of them ever could. Which was why since he’d become dead, his cooking skills had only improved.

The smell of the cocoa simmering with the cinnamon and the sweetened vanilla teased over his heightened senses in ways that no one would likely _ever_ understand. He’d tried explaining it to Lance once, how smelling foods was, in some ways, _almost_ as good as eating them. 

It wasn’t the same, it never would be the same, but it wasn’t as horrible as perhaps being unable to stand the scents. In some ways, smelling foods was better than eating them. There were certain foods he’d always thought smelled like absolute heaven, but tasted like garbage the moment they touched his tongue.

Romelle noticed his deep breath, and decided to follow his example. It wasn't as obvious for her, but even she could smell the cocoa from where she was. And just that alone was enough to have her mouth watering excessively. She swallowed, stomach empty and telling her rather aggressively about it, her blue eyes dropping to watch his hands work with desperation. 

"Chocolate," she breathed, probably sounding as depraved as she suddenly felt. "It's been so long…"

“Chocolate,” He hummed,  quite aware of her tone and deciding to give her something else to focus on besides the likely gnawing hunger in her belly, “has many properties.  Most of them are pretty well known, but the last one… Mmm, it’s not so well known .” He tapped the  whisk on the rim, and then glanced to her. “My family always believed that chocolate given in kindness can be a balm for a soul that needs some light in the dark. My mom always used to make  _ Koko Samoa.  _ _O meaai a oʻu tagata_ .”  His mother tongue slipped free without his meaning it to.

Much like Spanish and English, Hunk’s voice sounded like it was meant to speak Samoan. Linguistics were a forte of his, but unexplored due to financial restraints at the time.

Everything in this kitchen was driving her wild. The sweet smells as she added the ingredients to the boiling water reminding her of how long it had been since the last time she had eaten. And Romelle was _almost_ desperate enough to tell Hunk to shut up and make the cocoa faster. She refused, because she wasn't an animal. Controlling herself because she refused to let Zarkon break her into something to terrible and ugly. 

She bit her lip and tried to listen. It was a little hard to pull her thoughts away from how  _hungry_ she was, but Romelle managed. At least  she managed enough to be mildly confused at the change in language. It sounded natural on his tongue, and made her think of those brochures she used to read in the doctors offices with beached and palm trees on them. He must be from an island, she deduced. 

Hunk paused, and gave a soft laugh as he went to explain the gist of what he’d said so he didn’t confuse her. “ It’s a food of my people; a drink from my home country,  more specifically . It’s a lot like hot cocoa- though not so smooth. You end up with grinds in your teeth- but those taste good too. If you don’t like the grinds, which I didn’t when I was little, you can strain them out and it’s still amazing.” A fond smile touched his eyes. “I wish I could make it again.”

Hunk missed his family. He’d never enjoy _Koko Samoa_ again- not only was getting fresh cacao impossible, but he couldn’t drink it, and one couldn’t just smell _Koko Samoa_ and not drink it. That was like looking at fresh made _Suafa’i_ and calling it tapioca pudding- it just simply was not done. But, if he ever did get the chance to make it again, Hunk wouldn’t resist. Even if he couldn’t enjoy it, he had friends and his _new_ family who would love it.

She almost moaned when she realized he was describing something she could eat. She'd kill to have the grinds of chocolate to chew on after sipping a warm and thick drink of cocoa, just so she could remember what it felt like to chew on something again. "It must have tasted so good," she almost whimpered. 

It wasn't lost on her the look on his face, however. Clearly it was a fond memory of home. Even zombies had at one time, she supposed, come from a home with parents and siblings. She understood that bittersweet nostalgia. She found herself, very momentarily, thinking about her own parents, and her brother, and how much she missed them too. There were a lot of things she wished she could do again herself.

“It did.” Warm honey amber eyes turned to Romelle. In the fluorescent lighting, they almost glistened a hot gold. “For helping me make the cinnamon oatmeal,” His eyes twinkled merrily, “you can have the first cup. It’s no _Koko Samoa_ , but my hot cocoa is quite the treat. It’ll be even _better_ when I can get my hands on an animal that produces milk. Goats are easier to handle, _and_ goats milk is nutritious.”

When those eyes turned to her and he was promising her a first cup, Romelle’s fingers curled tight against the counter. A fist so tight her nails were digging into her palms as her eyes widened, round and pleading like a starving stray. 

"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you," she added, automatic and rushed. 

Except, how helpful was she truly when she had not done the one thing Hunk asked her to do. She _forgot_ to stir. 

Romelle swallowed again before finally turning her gaze away, though it was reluctant. And suddenly she looked so frail and tired. Her movements were slow. It took her more than a few minutes to grasp the wooden spoon and start stirring the oatmeal. Even longer for her brain to make sense. 

"Sorry, I forgot to stir," she mumbled. God, she hoped she didn't ruin or burn this. Not that she would have cared; food was food. She just didn't want to let Hunk down. Romelle already seemed to be shrinking under the weight of such thoughts. "I'm... I'm just _really_ hungry. And when I smelled everything..." She trailed off. Was it rude to say such a thing, knowing Hunk could smell all of this and not eat it himself? Shoot. "Sorry," she said, again, apprehensive and more than a little miserable.

Hunk understood better than most that yawing, gaping pit of hunger that seemed almost bottomless. The feeling of it twisting so hot and tight that it was hard to focus on anything but finding something to make the ache ease; the clench and clamp, the pain that came with not eating for so long, and the ravenous feeling that would be all but overwhelming.

For him, he felt it constantly. Hunger was his constant demon, always there, whispering thoughts and sins in his ears that he viciously ignored. It didn’t matter how much he ate- the hunger was always there, the desire to feast on fresh, living flesh, no matter who it was. And, if he didn’t eat anything to sate it, the hunger would become something more, something wild, until Hunk himself was gone and the feral monster was left behind.

His hunger was like hers- but in many ways, worse, and in some ways, less worse. His hunger was his curse, but it was a curse given by another victim. No one was at fault for why he was like this. Her hunger was _torture_ , inflicted on her by a demon of a man who’d gotten only a mere fraction of what he deserved in his death.

However, he didn’t want her feeling ashamed of that, of her hunger that wasn’t her fault. Yeah, the oatmeal had scorched a little bit- he could smell it bubbling up on the little hot burps of steam- but it was still salvageable. All he needed to do was add a few more scoops of spices, maybe a couple teaspoons of brown sugar to it, and it would be fixed and probably taste all the more better for it. He just had to be careful not to over-spice it so their stomachs could handle it.

Lance cooked with him enough that Hunk was practically a professional at fixing accidental oopsies. The only oops he couldn’t fix was when Lance caught things on fire. But, a simple scorch was an easy fix, and with the right spices, no one would even know it had scorched.

He shifted, and he very, very gently bumped his elbow to her arm to get her attention.

He bumped into her arm and it was pure instinct to flinch. 

She didn't mean to. It was a response ingrained in her from the short time she had spent in Zarkon's kennels. An expectation of pain that had her squeezing her eyes shut and raising her shoulders almost defensively, a slice of panic that she couldn't control shooting down into her stomach and making her grit her teeth. 

It wasn't because it was Hunk. No, she had decided she wasn't scared of him, that him being a zombie didn't matter. He had saved her. And he was always so kind. 

But, Romelle had messed up, and she was used to guards grabbing her hair tight and dragging her out of her cage. She was used to the harsh jab of weapons into her back to force her to walk. She was used to rough and pain and for that split second, she had reacted to brace for more. And when none came, she was left with the horrible feeling of guilt. 

"Sorry," she murmured, again. Romelle didn't think he would hurt her. She just couldn't stop it. 

“Not your fault, Romelle.” Hunk ducked his head so he could meet her eyes, hunching down to meet her lowered gaze. “Hey.” He said, voice dropping many, many octaves into something that was painfully soft and tender. “You don’t have to apologize for hunger to me, yeah? I’m _practically_ an expert in it by now.” He cracked a tiny joke- a _zombie_ joke- at his own expense in the hopes of maybe getting a smile, before giving her an encouraging one of his own. “There’s no mistake made here that can’t be fixed. Just keep stirring it for me, okay? I’m not upset with you. Gimme just a second to finish the cocoa, and I’ll fix the oatmeal.”

He was so empathetic, understanding her without her even having to put what she was feeling into words. Though, Romelle didn't smile. Regardless of whether she had decided she was unafraid of Hunk, Romelle still didn't quite see the humor in hungry zombies and him being one of them. 

It did, however, help to put her at ease; his kind and tender smile, his promise that he wasn't mad at her. Knowing he understood what she was feeling made it easier for her to relax and made her feel like she wasn't alone, and wasn't crazy.

"Yeah, okay," Romelle murmured. She could do that. Even if the smell of it was making her stomach feel like it was shriveled, and the hunger pains threatened to make spots dance across her vision. Her mouth was constantly watering now. She couldn't seem to swallow it all.

Romelle would never wish this kind of torture on anyone. Not even zombies. 

Hunk straightened, and looked back at the cocoa. The top was just starting to bubble, which meant it was hot enough to be put on simmer and left to keep warm. They didn’t need it boiling- that would put it too hot to drink, and people needed to be able to drink it. It would be just warm enough by the time everyone started filtering in that it would be practically perfect.

However, Hunk did have a promise to keep. He moved over to one of the many cupboards and got a mug out, and then snagged his ladle. 

Silverware and plates were honestly abundant in the apocalypse. Yes, there were houses that occasionally a skirmish had happened in, so there were broken dishes and pottery everywhere, but most of the time the dishes were in tact. Getting them home was a little trickier, but they’d still made a haul. Everyone had glasses and plates, and they had plastic for the children.

When they’d set out to make Altea a home, they were determined to make it an honest home. That included having dishware, and not prison trays.

He moved back to the pot, and filled the mug with expertise of having done it hundreds- if not thousands- of times before. The mug steamed, wafting warm cocoa up to them, and Hunk turned to Romelle.

He eased the spoon from her hand, giving her a tender smile, and replaced it instead with the warm mug of cocoa. “Like I promised- first cup of cocoa is yours.” Just because she’d had an oops in the kitchen hadn’t meant he was going to go back on his promise either. She hadn’t done anything wrong- accidents were accidents. “You can have another with dinner.”

That said, Hunk took over on the oatmeal.

Romelle hadn’t noticed Hunk was moving. Her focus was entirely on the bubbling surface in front of her. She wanted to dive in. Romelle didn't even care if it would burn her hands or mouth. She had been utterly lost in her hunger induced haze until freezing cold fingers on her own snapped her out of it. She found herself gazing now at a steaming cup being place against her fingers, and a tender smile from Hunk that had her throat going tight. 

Hunk was so caring. So _kind_. He didn't deserve to be a zombie. 

"Thank you," she gasped, for more than just keeping his promise.

Hunk simply smiled as he worked the spoon viciously along the bottom, dropping the heat on the stove just a little before scuttling to grab his current container of brown sugar. He popped the lid, dropping a couple spoons of the grainy brown crystals into the gloopy mix, before mixing in another couple sprinkles of cinnamon.

As he mixed it, the over-thickened texture of it thinned a little, turning into a proper oatmeal instead of the thickly clumped clusters. 

Once it smoothed out into something a little more proper, he turned the heat off and slid the heavy pot off the burner with a grunt. A lid was put on it to keep it warm without letting it sit and scorch on a burner, and then Hunk was moving to grab serving bowls to set out for when people began trailing in from the medical ward.

Romelle only watched him for a few seconds before she lifted the mug to her lips, tipping it back and sucking it down like a beast. Romelle didn't even take the time to blow on it, starved and desperate. The instant her mouth filled with flavor and warmth, she almost choked because it was like liquid heaven.

It was more than just nostalgia. More than just a reminder of being a kid, when she would come home after playing in the snow all day and her mom had set out a cup of cocoa. It was salvation. The taste in her mouth was that of _humanity_. Proof that even in a desolate world full of monsters, there was still kindness. 

Freedom had been such a hard concept for her to grasp at first, but now it was in her hands. This cocoa was now her reality. It was real and honest freedom from her tormentor and her nightmare of a life before him. It couldn't be a dream, because the taste was so vivid and rich and _wonderful,_ better than she had ever hoped. The best damn tasting thing she had ever had.

It hit her stomach, filling her up. And as she pulled the cup away from her lips to gasp for breath, she could feel the hot touch of tears on her face. It was embarrassing, getting so emotional over hot cocoa of all things, but Romelle couldn't help it. Wiping at her eyes and face did nothing to stop them. 

Romelle couldn't remember the last time she had tasted something so warm, or felt relief from her hunger. She couldn't remember the last time she had met someone with such kindness, nor could she remember the last time she had felt _human_ , and not like some caged and beaten little animal. 

Romelle took a shuddering breath before laughing. It was watery and a little weak, but delighted. She was out of her cage. Her heart could finally stretch it's wings. She could breathe. She didn't have to be hungry or cold or _hurt_ ever again.

Hunk gave her some privacy, as best he could with being only a few feet away in the kitchen. It was one of his least favorite things about his senses, really. He couldn’t really give people privacy. He could pretend, surely, but when he could sit in a quiet room and listen to someone’s insides digesting their meal from across the room, there was very, very little that could be hidden from his ears or his nose.

The smell of tears was almost uncomfortable to him. He didn’t like the salty almost saline like smell, or the way that someone’s scent went strange with them, almost like it hurt. Mostly it made him uncomfortable because most people didn’t want his comfort- and it left him in an awkward position of aching to help but being unable to help.

Tears now were rare and hard to come by after the apocalypse had ravaged the world with the savage dead, but Hunk always seemed to see people at their most vulnerable. A lot of it, he knew, was because of what he usually did for Altea.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen and heard people break down over their first meal in Altea. It was actually a fairly common occurrence with the people that they adopted in out of the metaphorical wasteland. Most of the canned goods out there, they couldn’t tell which ones were good and which ones were bad, or if they had even grabbed human edible canned goods. A lot of canned pet food was left, the labels worn off with time. 

When people got to have a real home cooked meal that was hot and guaranteed not to be spoiled, most of them burst into tears. To many, it didn’t feel real- it felt like they’d wake from a dream of times before the world had gone to hell. When reality set in that this was real, many just openly sobbed, worn raw and torn open to show a kind of vulnerability that their world now tried to scrub clean from them.

If she’d been more familiar to him, more comfortable with touch- her earlier flinch still there in his mind- Hunk would have offered a hug. That’s how he handled helping Lance when Lance got lost in bad memories and broke down into tears. When Keith had gotten upset, Hunk would just make him something warm to drink and sit with him for as long as he needed. He knew Keith well, but Keith didn’t always have the same need for touch as Lance did. When Keith needed a hug, Keith let Hunk know.

It would take Hunk a while to learn the new individuals- but he would make an effort for those who would let him. Some people, even long time residents of Altea, had kept him at arms length. Some still didn’t like him and would rather he not be there- but he was a core component to Altea. Pidge was smart, but she was a scientist, not an engineer.

Hunk dampened a soft dish towel, ringing it out so it was nice and cool but not sopping wet, and then turned to approach Romelle.

He lifted his hands slowly, making sure she could see his hands. Since hers were clinging tightly to her drink, Hunk used the towel to very gently wipe her teary cheeks, and to dabble at the mess of chocolate around her mouth while she laughed an almost hysterically relieved noise.

That was pretty normal too, honestly.

There was, a brief second, where the hands coming at her had her body tightening outside of her control. However, Romelle, this time, courageously stood her ground and was rewarded by the soft and tender touch of fabric gently caressing her face, cleaning it of tears, snot, and chocolate. 

"I didn't..." She tried. "I wasn't..." But how could she possibly hope to articulate the intense feelings inside of her into words? All she could do was stupidly cry even more, as if the tender touch of Hunk accepting her tears had given her the okay to let herself go. 

Romelle thought she should have been embarrassed. Yet, as she looked up into those eyes that were just as warm as she expected from a living, _breathing_ , person, instead, she couldn't seem to stop herself. 

“It gets easier.” He said softly, dropping his hand once her face was cleaned once again. Warm eyes met hers, gentle and deep. “It’ll feel more real in a couple weeks, once you’ve settled into your room and made it yours, and you get used to regular meals. Most of the time, I only cook breakfast and dinner while someone else picks up lunch, but sometimes I do pick up midday meal. I probably will for a while until we get you, and everyone else, back into good shape.” 

"Oh god," she breathed when he mentioned regular meals, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks. Hunk was doing it again; understanding her before she could speak, and he was giving her even more, sympathy and acceptance, despite already giving her so much more than she could possibly ever hope to repay. "I'm so scared I'm going to wake up," she admitted in a soft hiccup. "I don't want this to be a dream…"

“I doubt a dream would have a sentient zombie cooking in a kitchen.” Hunk’s lips tilted up into a smile as his head cocked to the side. Pidge cracked dog jokes at him most of the time because his reactions to hearing things were a lot like a dog responding to noises. With his senses stronger now, her dog jokes weren’t really that far off. His sense of smell and hearing was often creepy. “Speaking of everyone else… It sounds like the first group is coming from the medical bay. Why don’t we get your cocoa refilled and get you a bowl of oatmeal, and you go get settled down-”

“Huuuuuuuunk!” Lance’s voice echoed up the hall and into the big cafeteria visible through the open front of the kitchen, interrupting Hunk’s attempt to talk to Romelle. Lance was visible within moments, leading a cluster of bandaged ex-prisoners with him. His own arm had been bandaged, and Lance had been stripped down to his tank-top undershirt. 

The others _were_ coming. Romelle swallowed the thick feeling in her throat, and nodded, clearly trying to reign herself back in after her lapse in control of her emotions and her body. She sniffled and raised one of her hands to gently catch a few of the remaining tears on her face while Hunk turned to greet his boisterous friend.

“ _Hermano!_ We can smell that all the way in the medical bay. That smells amazing. You and your lovely assistant did an _amazing_ job.” He leaned against the counter and eyed the cocoa with eager eyes, sniffing pointedly. Lance didn’t have Hunk’s nose, but Lance had an intense appreciation for anything with cinnamon. “Do you need any help?”

“From the local kitchen disaster? I think I’ll be okay.” Hunk teased automatically, shifting gears and back into work mode seamlessly. He stepped forward to begin the process of putting cocoa into mugs, and filling bowls with oatmeal and spoons. “Why don’t you help everyone get their meals and get to a seat?”

Her hand still remained clutched around the mug in her hands; it took her a few minutes to put it down, but she kept it close. 

She was still Hunk's assistant though. 

Romelle had made herself as useful as she could one handed. As Hunk and Lance spoke, she started to pull apart the dishes Hunk had set up. She handed them to Hunk to fill, one by one.

“I can do that.” Lance chuckled. He turned back to his group of survivors, and clapped his hands jovially. “Alright! You heard our chef! Lets get you all some grub and get you seated at the tables. It’s about time you all got to eat.” ‘And eat like human beings’ was implied, but clearly left unsaid.

Hunk was glad Lance showed a little restraint with his words. He shook his head, watching timid people step up to collect mugs of cocoa and their meals. In each and every set of eyes that hesitantly met his, he could see the same desperate hunger that he’d seen in Romelle’s gaze. 

Speaking of… Hunk spooned a full bowl of oat meal, and then turned momentarily to give a pointed look back at Romelle, before glancing at her cocoa mug. He did say he’d refill it- and he had all intentions of doing so before he sent her out to eat. “Romelle,” He said with a soft smile, “trade for a moment? I need to refill that so you can go sit and eat with everyone else. Don’t worry about me in here. I can handle serving up meals, okay?”

She briefly went still when those golden eyes landed on her. He wanted the cup she was guarding behind her, and for a moment, she almost shook her head. The hungry beast inside of her was telling her to hold on to that mug with both hands as tightly as she could in case it was the only one she got. 

But, Hunk wasn't taking it away, she told herself. After everything he had promised and given, she now understood and believed that he wouldn't do that to her. So, _slowly_ , she handed her mug to Hunk to take, fingers still a little stiff, but eventually sliding off the warm ceramic almost reluctantly.

Hunk didn’t take all that long in refilling her cup, filling her hands instead with the warm plastic of the bowl filled with oatmeal first. Her refilled mug of cocoa joined her dinner once it had been filled, and Hunk gave her an encouraging smile, urging her to go out with the rest.

She would have fought a little harder to help him. It was why she volunteered after all. Except the cocoa had only curbed her hunger, not ended it. And the opportunity to sit down to put some much needed calories into her mouth was something she couldn't turn away from. 

Romelle had a feeling Hunk knew that too, and she found herself smiling shyly in return.

Once Hunk got her a bowl, and refilled her cup, she followed Lance to the seat he directed her too. Stealing one last glance back at the kitchen, she faded into the mass of bodies at the table, huddling around their bowls and mugs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: No rest for the dead- nor for the writers. :D enjoy. Also, serious points to Weenie. I've been in a slump, and she's been super patient with me with, like, everything. Weenie is a trooper, ya'll, and she deserves some love.
> 
> Weenie Notes: Poor Hunk. A zombies work is just never done. 
> 
> QUESTION FOR LAST WEEK!: "What flavors and smells do you associate with each Voltron member?"
> 
> Weenie;  
> *Allura: Something soft and floral, like Wisteria. And I like the idea of her throwing down spicy foods like they're nothing while the rest of the paladins are like WTF!?  
> *Coran: Something bold, like Cigar. He'd probably be eccentric enough to like weird flavor combos too like, I don't know, mango and salsa or strawberries and basil xD  
> *Hunk: Listen, this man would smell like vanilla and butter and cinnamon, everything delicious like a homemade batch of cookies, and, I can't confine him to one taste! That would be a disservice to him as a world famous chef!! I mean if I had to pick a flavor though, it would be savory.  
> *Keith: He'd be like a campfire, musky and warm, and even though everyone would expect him to like spicy things, he seems more like a sweets person to me.  
> *Lance: Smells like the salty spray of the ocean, and I see him as the man who can handle his spiciness. Not as well as his bae of course, but he tries xD  
> *Pidge: She smells like ozone, like before a thunderstorm and lightning, and I could see her really enjoying minty or sour things.  
> *Shiro: To me, Shiro would have a calming scent, like lavender, or something bold and musky like sandalwood. And of course, we all know he's the cheesey one, so I associate him with cheese xD
> 
>  
> 
> Strider's answer: Gonna bow out of this one XD I'm not good at assigning scents and flavors to things. Only thing I know for sure is lance would smell like Cinnamon.
> 
>  
> 
> This week's question: What kind of movie genres do you associate with each of the Voltron paladins?

With an influx of people also came an influx of changes. More food had to be cooked, wounds had to be checked, physical therapy had to be performed, and continual medical checkups had to be made to mark progress in wounds and make sure nothing was getting worse. It was a shock to their system, and while their populace welcomed the new people with open arms, it wasn’t the _current_ population of Altea that suffered the most.

The shock of transitioning from barely livable conditions into sterile, healthy living quarters surrounded by so many other people sent many of the ex-prisoner’s immune systems into something of a downward spiral. One of them caught what their many acquired textbooks identified as influenza. The problem was, when one caught it, it spread like _wildfire._

Hunk ended up with fifteen people in his medical ward, and he locked down the back room of it into a quarantine. One of Altea’s residents had caught it, among fourteen other ex-prisoners. It seemed to mostly have affected the children and the elderly, with only a few sparse adults in the mix. And Hunk? Hunk couldn’t really get sick, not like they did.

They didn’t have a working hazmat suit for Pidge either, so it was all on Hunk to be in and out to get what he needed, which involved a large number of decontamination scrubs with as many anti-bacterial soaps as he had on hand.

The problem with influenza, Hunk learned _rapidly_ , is that while some cases could be treated with bed rest and plenty of fluids, there were others who worsened before one could even get the medication to help them. They didn’t have access to the antiviral medication needed to treat influenza either, and they didn’t have the time to travel to pharmacies and clinics in the city and surrounding suburbs to try and find them.

One by one, Hunk held the hands of _seven_ of the afflicted people he’d helped save from Zarkon’s torture, and watched them die. Three older women, and two older men, and one particularly unlucky younger woman who ended up with a case of pneumonia on top of influenza and had drowned on the fluids in her lungs.

The last one of them to succumb had been the little boy he’d helped out of the cage, the one who had shied away from him until he’d asked if he’d let him help him. Hunk had learned that his name was, Ollie, and that even if Ollie couldn’t see colors, he still liked to draw and to scribble with pencils and make doodles.

Ollie’s last drawing was a horrendous monstrosity of yellow and green, and depicted Hunk in a poorly drawn nurses uniform taking care of people. It was pinned to the wall of his medical bay, and had been doodled the day before Ollie entered respiratory failure and died, clinging to Hunk’s arm whilst choking on his own inflamed lungs.

The seven bodies had been moved to the morgue to be handled when there was time.

The last eight members had recovered within a few days, and had been released back out into the general populace twenty four hours past the last of their fever. Most of them were weak and shaky, but they were okay. They were alive, well, and likely to not want to go back to the medical bay for some time, but that had been fine with Hunk.

Hunk had things he had to do first.

The first thing he did once he’d sanitized everything as best as he possibly could, including himself and his clothing, was head out and grab a shovel to go start digging.

Seven graves took a long, long time to dig, which was fine. The bodies needed time to sit so the virus could die, and since the graveyard wasn’t inside the walls proper, it was simply easier if he went to do the vast bulk of it on his own. He didn’t attract other zombies, and there in didn’t have to deal with people missing their shots and hitting him or anyone else by accident. Hunk also didn’t have to rest when digging. Besides stopping for water, he could keep digging and digging and digging until he was done.

That being said, their marked graveyard wasn’t far from the walls at all, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t occasionally joined by people who didn’t mind spending a couple hours getting exercise in digging holes.

The graveyard was in a part of the tree line that had been, at one point, cleared for lumber back before Hunk had gotten the heating systems online with solar panels along with the lights. With a hand held ax, Hunk had taken to chopping down the trees like a lumberjack of old, hacking at the old timber tirelessly until it fell, and then chopping off piece after piece until he had exactly what he needed for crafting or for firewood.

It left a large clearing which he had intentionally wanted to build into something for them to use for survival, but they’d lost people, and it had ended up turning into the graveyard. It was well within sight of the watch on the wall, so it was a relatively safe location to go out and visit. They had also constructed a small fence around the perimeter of the trees. It didn’t stop the undead if they were in a determined charge, but it definitely bought enough time for someone to scramble out and back to Altea’s gates.

It took Hunk most of one night, a long night spent half blind by a spotlight so the guards didn’t accidentally mistake him for a feral zombie and snipe him from afar, and well into the next day to get all the graves dug.

Digging graves took a lot longer than filling them in. He took his time with each grave, though. These weren’t impersonal, burying bodies that they found alongside the road. These were people he’d gotten to know, if only for a short time. So Hunk took his sweet time carefully settling them into their graves, spreading Lyme on top to keep the undead from smelling the corpses once they began to rot, and then burying them and setting up small markers with their names carved into them using his knife blade.

Ollie was the last, and he lolled heavily in Hunk’s arms as he carried him out to the graveyard. Ollie himself wasn’t heavy, but bearing the weight of a dead child was a heavy burden for anyone. Ollie was not the first child Hunk had carried and buried, and he would not, he suspected, be the last.

The boy’s body was settled down into the grave, and Hunk arranged his loose limbs gently, folding them on his belly and tucking a wildflower into his cold fingers, curling them gently around it. Rigor mortis had come and gone, leaving Ollie, and all the other bodies in their graves, limp and heavy.

When Ollie had been arranged properly, Hunk gently dusted him in Lyme before crawling from the grave and beginning the arduous task of burying him and setting up his grave marker.

Hunk had to thank everything out there that there were only a comparatively small handful of tiny graves in their graveyard. The child sized graves were identifiable by their diminutive sizes compared to the full bodied ones for the adult graves. Every disturbed mound of earth hurt his soul bit by bit.

He powered on, until he scooped the last bit of dirt onto the pile and had secured the grave marker in place with three heavy stones to keep it from toppling even if the undead managed to bumble over the fence and bump into it.

Hunk exhaled with something akin to tiredness, and leaned down to pick up his canteen. His shoulders creaked, and he winced. He hadn’t necessarily been keeping up with his required water intake all that well when he’d been so busy taking care of people.

A quick shake proved that his canteen was empty, so he’d need to fill it when he got back and washed off.

“You _really_ need to drink more water.”

For once, Pidge’s voice actually startled Hunk, his scalp bristling up as he whipped around to blink at her. She wasn’t alone, Keith and Romelle had come with her. Romelle was trailing a little behind them, fiddling with a bundle of flowers from Hunk’s flower garden.

“ _Pidge_!” He exclaimed, exasperated, “You are a horribly sneaky gremlin.”

“Call it good practice for when you let your guard down. You also love me even though I am a sneaky gremlin.” Pidge gave him a cheeky smile and looped her arm through Keith’s. “Especially when I bring your extra water bottle because I know how hyper-focused you get when you’re working.”

“I don’t get any less hyper-focused than you do, Pidge,” he huffed at her dryly, and dusted off his hands briefly so he could try and pat down his hair. Zombie biology was ridiculous, he didn’t like how easy it was to compare him to an animal when it was basically true. When it was tamed, he approached the trio and accepted his second water bottle from Pidge.

Hunk uncapped it and tossed it back to drain it.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Science is my weakness,” Pidge rolled her eyes. She watched Hunk drink with a curious glint, and leaned out to poke him in the stomach. She still didn’t understand how he couldn’t eat human food, but he could and had to drink water, or his body health suffered for it. But, she’d never really studied the zombies out in the ‘wild’ so to speak either, so it was possible that all zombies drank.

They did find an awful lot of them caught in the fishing nets, after all.

Hunk choked on his water when her finger jabbed his belly. He coughed, barely managing not to sputter on her as she laughed at his suffering. “ _Pidge!_ ” He squeaked, using his shirt to pat his face dry. “Come on, at least let me drink in peace.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Her eyes clearly said she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “You’re absolutely fascinating.”

“Science another time, Pidge,” Hunk sighed. “I’m tired. Keiiiiiith.” He turned a pout to his friend. “Rein in your girlfriend before she murders me with water.”

Standing beside Pidge, Keith was silent, staring at the seven mounds of freshly overturned earth. He seemed quiet, or rather, _quieter_. There were bags under his eyes, and something subdued in his usually so vibrant and flaming violet gaze. He had been spending a lot of time with Shiro since the prisoners had been rescued, and the combination of watching refugees fall ill, as well as seeing the man he cared for so much be reduced to someone almost unrecognizable, had taken its toll.

It broke his heart a little realizing they had failed to do something about Zarkon in time to rescue these people. Just as it broke his heart knowing he had failed Shiro, the man who had saved his life and the man to whom he owed so much to.

He had a feeling Hunk might be feeling the same way.

His thoughts were interrupted, and his heavy gaze shifted towards Hunk and Pidge. Namely, watching Hunk choke on water as his girlfriend jabbed him in the gut, bringing out an amused smile that crawled its way onto his face. It was good to see them act like this. It felt normal, even if to outsiders like Romelle, who was watching them in _bafflement_ , it probably seemed strange. These were his friends doing what they always did though, and it was like a breath of fresh air to his cold and weary soul.

Keith cocked a brow when Hunk turned to him, smile growing. "You know as well as I do that there's no reining in Pidge." Boyfriend or not, Pidge did what Pidge wanted. She was like a tidal wave and you either endured it or you didn't, simple as that. Plus, he really didn't want to be in the dog house for upsetting her either, so looked like Hunk was shit out of luck there.

“Don’t be silly, Hunk, you can’t drown.” Her matter of fact voice probably should have been alarming. Her gaze wandered over and lingered on the graves. A weary sigh left her, and she chewed her bottom lip for a second. “Are you okay?” Her gaze flitted up to him again, hazel eyes meeting sunlit gold.

The moment passed as Pidge looked out at the graves, and Keith sighed, unconsciously tightening his arm around hers while he furrowed his brows on the smallest mound. It always hit worse when it was a kid.

Hunk lifted a hand and wobbled it back and forth. Hunk knew what she meant without her having to reference it. “As well as can be when I just buried good people and a kid, Pidge. Kids never get easier.” He sighed, and dropped his hands back down to his side. His eyes roved over the three of them. “As much as I love seeing my friends together, a graveyard isn’t really a social gathering spot. What brought you all out…?”

There was something so heartbreaking about watching Hunk work for hours on end, digging graves for the people who had succumbed to Zarkon's torture.

Romelle had ignored some of the crueler remarks others made as she gathered the flowers in her hands. They were just scared of Hunk's tireless endurance, just as they were scared of Hunk. She hadn't understood when she first got here what Hunk meant about forming her own opinion, but _now_ she did. And sometimes it was hard not to be angry.

There was no room for it now. Not when she felt a crippling sadness for the people who had fought so hard for freedom, only to die in the end. People who had been like her, desperate and alone and so, so, _scared._

At least she wasn't alone in her gratitude and worry over Hunk. As she stepped outside, she had been joined by Pidge and Keith. She didn't know them well yet, but she was glad to see them anyway. Lately Hunk had been working so hard. Romelle had taken to helping him in the kitchen more so he could have _some_ reprieve from all the work he was doing.

Though he was dead and never said anything, Romelle could see it anyway; a bone deep weariness in him when the first of the refugees died despite his best efforts. And she worried that the loss of six more lives would take a toll on the man she cared for.

Romelle had greeted Keith and Pidge with a slight smile, before following them out towards Hunk. It was good to know his friends shared her concern. That he had people who cared about him like she did.

"You, mostly," Romelle murmured in reply. She gave Hunk a shy look. "I- _We_ were worried about you." And then she stepped closer, cradling the seven light bunches of flowers she had tied together. "And to pay our respects," she added. Pursing her lips, she moved, kneeling down to start laying the flowers over the graves. "Some of these people I knew," she admitted. "Not personally, of course, but..."

They shared horrors. She recognized faces of the people she had been forced to share kennels with from time to time. It built a kind of kinship in some ways. And seeing them fall like this after everything they had been through... It hurt.

“I didn’t get the chance to know them,” Pidge commented softly. “Not like you did while you took care of them, Hunk.” Pidge had more or less known _of_ them, but not known _them_ , so to speak. It took time for new people to become more than numbers in a ledger for her to keep track of. “Romelle is right though. We’re worried about you. You’ve been digging for a while, and you never take it good when you lose patients. We _care_ about you, dude. We do notice when you’re working too hard.”

Hunk stared at them, absolutely dumbfounded. He did know his friends cared, he knew they cared a lot. It warmed his cold heart that they came outside the walls to tell him that though. To show him that they cared, it meant a lot to him. Most of the time Lance was the one who did big ‘displays’. Pidge and Keith were more subtle. Though, Pidge was about as blunt as a speeding train when it came to telling him things. She didn’t beat around the bush. Though, usually, neither did Keith.

His throat felt tight, and he opened his mouth to speak. He couldn’t find the words. Really, it was an absolutely sweet gesture from all three. Keith looked dead on his feet, and Pidge was as much of a busybody as Hunk was most of the time. Both of them had been incredibly busy as of late, Pidge trying her best to help Hunk and Keith in taking care of Shiro, so it was nothing short of absolutely sweet that they both took time to come check on him.

Lance was usually the one who came to find him after these sorts of things. But, Hunk knew Lance was deep in planning with Allura and Coran. The recent losses had let them know they needed more medication available, so plans needed to be made to raid a pharmacy or four. The more the merrier, frankly, though it required traveling.

Romelle was probably the biggest surprise, Hunk thought, to see out and about outside the walls. She was sweet and kind and had been helping make kitchen duties more bearable during his constant back and forth between the medical bay. He would like to think they were good friends, but he didn’t think she liked him well enough to leave the safety of Altea and venture outside the walls to bring flowers for graves.

It was an incredibly sweet gesture, one he found absolutely bewildering.

Hunk's utter shock was devastating for Romelle. Was he really so used to being shunned that even this simple kind gesture was so surprising?

He deserved kindness when he put so much of himself out for others. Enough to be kind and not only learn about his patients and remember their names, but hold almost strangers as they were dying so they wouldn't be alone. He was the kindest person she had ever met, and she still could not understand how he allowed others to treat him like they did.

“You’re going to catch flies if you keep staring like that,” Pidge remarked lightly, one of her honey brown brows rising high on her forehead. “And you can’t even eat the flies. Can you?”

“We’re _not_ testing that,” came Hunk’s automatic remark along with a truly revolted look that crossed his face. He did _not_ do bugs.

Pidge and Keith took it in stride. Or at least, a lot better than Romelle did.

Namely, Keith seemed amused, giving off a soft huff of a laugh when Pidge went from teasing to genuinely curious in the blink of an eye. Her mind was like that, constantly in motion. Sometimes Keith had trouble keeping up.

Though, there was a big opportunity here, and even if this _was_ generally Lance's moment, Keith couldn't resist. "At least fly's would be a step up from maggots," he replied.

Hunk made a rude gesture at Keith and stuck out his tongue. The world would be a better place if maggots did not exist, in Hunk’s very, very firm opinion. Trash maggots especially.

“But… Really, thank you. It means a lot, all three of you coming out. And… It would mean a lot to _them_ too.” His gaze slid down to the graves, and he felt that light feeling in his chest hollow itself out again. He wanted to help spread out the flowers, but his hands were filthy, and the little bundles that Romelle had made were beautiful. Too beautiful to be sullied by his fingers. “Martha liked peonies, Jamal was a fan of daisies, and Ollie liked anything with what he called ‘rose gray’. I never did get to learn everyone’s favorite flower, but I did learn those.”

He always learned a lot about the people he took care of. Especially when they were sequestered in quarantine, where Hunk was their only outside contact. Sick people were often the most talkative, and, oddly enough, the most welcoming. Well, most of them. A scant few hated him either way, but they dealt with his presence because he was the closest thing they had to a legitimate doctor, alongside Pidge. He was the only one who never seemed to catch what they had, so Hunk ways always put on the worst cases.

Seeing bad cases time and time again though, watching patients bleed out and die, or choke to death on fluids in their lungs that he had no way to remove, never got easier. Hunk always felt that dark void of hurt and loss in his chest. After spending days with them, talking with them, reading to them and playing games with them, losing patients was always comparable to losing a friend. He was never sure if they felt like that, but Hunk…

Hunk was a soft guy; A warm guy, despite the fact that he was a walking, talking corpse. Hunk cared deeply, and every death was a failure that cut deeper than any knife.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been alarming you guys. You’d think being dead would make it easier to handle death, but it never, ever gets easier.” Hunk ran a hand over the back of his neck with a sigh, no doubt smearing Lyme and soil everywhere. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I’m just… tired, I guess.”

That made Pidge frown at him, and she glanced up at Keith. Hunk didn’t get ‘tired’. Hunk was like a battery on crack, he never seemed to stop going.

Keith’s amusement was short though, much like Pidge’s was. As Pidge looked up at him, he met her gaze with a subtle frown of his own. Physically, Hunk didn't get tired. Keith thought he didn't have the ability to now that he was a zombie. However, his heart, though cold and still, was not made of ice. He was not a wild animal like the others, the spark of intelligence gone from their eyes and replaced with primal urge to disembowel and feed. Hunk had color. Hunk still had light in him. Hunk had a big heart.

Like Keith though, that big heart could be chiseled at. Taking care of others is what all of them here at Altea did. And though Hunk's heart was the biggest, that didn't mean it couldn't be chiseled down to something small and withered like the rest of them.

Which, in turn, made Keith feel terrible. Hunk needed a break, and out of everyone here, he deserved it the most. And here he was coming out here to ask him to take on more work. He furrowed his brows and dropped his gaze guiltily, turning it towards Romelle as she leaned down and carefully lay the last of the little bouquets down.

“Okay,” Pidge said softly when she glanced back to Hunk. “Hunk, you’re dead, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings. You’ve got probably the biggest heart I’ve ever seen, even if it doesn’t beat anymore. You don’t even handle the… more zombie aspects of being a zombie. I’d be more worried if you didn’t feel anything after losing patients, you know? It’s okay to be tired.”

Pidge had gone ‘hunting’ with Hunk and Lance only once, and she’d learned more than she wanted to learn. Such as, Lance had incredible skill with a knife and his skill at sniping vital points translated to being able to carve a human like a turkey. Hunk was too soft to actually do it, but Lance took care of that for him. Hunk did not like to hurt people unless he had to, and if he had it his way, she knew he wouldn’t eat anything at all.

Hunk nodded and sighed. He took another drink of his water bottle. Already, the water was helping his joints loosen up and re-hydrate. He was a lot like a plant, though he wouldn’t die without water. It would become incredibly painful over time though. “I know. But the work never stops, not even for me. I need to head in and get a shower, and then go see about catching up on everything I’ve been slacking in.”

When Romelle stood back up, there was something in her gaze that Keith couldn't quite place. "You have _not_ been slacking," she argued. "You've worked the hardest out of anyone I've seen here."

Romelle didn't even seem to care that Keith and Pidge were right there when she said it either. Not that Keith would have been offended or argued. Hunk did work twice as hard. Literally, the poor man didn't sleep now. He had nothing to do but work during those long hours of quiet.

"You don't have to go back to work," she added then, her tone much softer now. She approached Hunk and, despite the dirt and mud on his cold skin, rested her warm palm on his arm. Her deep blue eyes, almost a shade of violet, were tender. "You need time to rest too."

Romelle really was an anomaly. When Keith had first met Hunk, he had reacted like Shiro had; stab first and be terrified and confused of the talking zombie later. In fact, he knew one of the more gruesome scars on Hunk was _his_ fault. The other rescued prisoners were scared of him too, tense and wary and huddling closer together like frightened rabbits whenever he walked by.

Romelle had taken a shine to him though; accepting him so easily. It still surprised Keith.

Hunk didn’t shake her hand off his arm, even if he didn’t want her to sully her clean skin with the dirt that coated him. He glanced down at her, eyes deep and almost endless looking, as she argued at him and moved to speak at him softer. Romelle was so… So strange. So different. He knew on some level she had to be a little afraid of him, a little afraid of the monster he was, but she still made the effort to be kind to him, to be sweet and gentle and to reach out where others pulled away.

It was baffling and sweet and amazing in so many ways.

Their eyes met, and Romelle's gaze did not waver; holding that endless honey gaze steady in her own. Of course she was a little scared. Hunk was a zombie, the very monsters that had ruined her life. However, he was so much more than _just_ a monster. He was kinder than any of the men she had been subject to in the last year of her life. Kinder then the people she met before Zarkon, who had beaten her brother until he couldn't walk just because they could.

She couldn't blame Hunk for every time she was thrown into the ring to fight for her life. And she didn't blame him for the death of her younger brother. Hunk was a zombie, but he was not the cause of everything that had gone wrong.

He was just as human as she was, and he hurt like she did. There was already enough heartless animals in the world; beasts that called themselves humans when they acted little better than rabid wolves. She refused to let go of kindness; refused to let go of respect and gratefulness.

Hunk had saved her. He mourned her fallen comrades. He did his best to keep them alive and tend to them when they needed someone there the most. That was far more than enough reason in her mind to accept him just as he was.

“Okay,” he gave in easy under the depth of her gaze and the conviction he could hear ringing in her voice. The spice of it burned against his nose, and he found himself holding his breath just a little so he wasn’t overwhelmed by it. She was so… emotive. It was amazing. It also stirred his hunger. Hunk hadn’t necessarily had time to stop and eat properly. He’d gone quite a few days without consuming naught but water. “Okay. You’re right, I haven’t been slacking. I’ve just been busy with other work, and some other duties fell on the backslide.”

“Not entirely on the backslide, either,” Pidge commented, lifting a hand to adjust her glasses on her face. “We kept up on things for you as best we can, taking care of everyone was more important than having you worry over the laundry being washed and folded or making sure the guns were cleaned and dust bunnies vanquished from the corners. Naturally, we don’t have your super perception skills, but we did a pretty good job. The guns look nice, the corners of the laundry are crisp, and we sent the dust bunnies packing.”

Hunk gave Pidge a lopsided smile and felt an easy laugh bubble out of his chest. “Thank you.” He hadn’t expected them to pick up on his chores, especially given the number of people who did like him and who didn’t mind helping when he needed assistance. Pidge had clearly rounded up everyone who didn’t mind helping him, or he’d have heard the grumbling of those who had been heckled into picking up his chores.

His gaze slid back to Romelle, and Hunk gave the tiniest of sighs. He lifted a hand very slowly so he didn’t spook her, and patted her fingers. “Work here at Altea never stops,” he said very softly. “And I can’t just stop because I’m a little worn down. I’ll be okay. There are still things I need to do and to check up on, and they are necessary to Altea’s functioning.”

Pidge was right too. Others had picked up the slack. Mostly his friends who knew Hunk well, but there had been a few prisoners like herself too. A majority of this place seemed to shun Hunk, but there were still plenty that liked him.

However, Romelle’s smile faltered when he turned back to her, the corners of her lips turning down as his cold hand rested against her own.

“Such as?” Pidge challenged, cocking one hip out as she arched a brow stubbornly at him before Romelle could say a word.

He met Pidge’s stubborn gaze with an arched brow. Honestly, most of Altea was a carefully balanced scale. Everything was important to the core functioning, if any one thing got tipped too far out of balance, it would disrupt everything and sent it all into a spiral of chaos. “The lights have been flickering in tiny minute flashes. Not only does that kill my eyes, but I need to make sure there’s not a problem with the wiring from the solar panels.”

If the power cut, they wouldn’t have water, their food storage would go out which would result in spoilage, and they’d have no way to water the plants growing in the garden. They did have back up grills that ran on firewood, and they did have water stored up in old milk jugs, so they could cook meals and ration water, but a lot of Altea ran on electricity. It would set them back exponentially to lose all of the food in their freezers, in more ways than one.

“Oh. Okay, yes, that _is_ slightly important,” she huffed at him. Pidge did know when important things had to come first over personal needs, but she did know that if it hadn’t blown yet, then it wouldn’t blow in the next hour or two. “But it hasn’t gone out yet. You can take a couple hours and just… relax before you dive back into work. You know, go get something to _eat_ ,” She gave him an incredibly pointed look, and was rewarded with him flushing in embarrassment, “and maybe spend some time socializing.”

Hunk huffed on a soft breath and shuffled a little, glancing at Romelle. His cheeks were dark, clearly embarrassed. Pidge did tend to take notice of his eating habits, or lack there of when he got too engrossed. Mostly because he did it to her too, she called it payback. He didn’t necessarily like to have his eating habits called out though, hungry zombies made everyone more anxious. He was hungry, yes, but he had a few more days yet before he’d hit the danger zone for ravenous.

Pidge cleared her throat at him, drawing his gaze back. She gave him an expectant look.

“I need to shower, and _then_ I’ll get my daily ration. Once I’ve eaten, I’ll go visit with people for a few minutes,” he mumbled at her, glancing down and scuffing his shoe in the grass. “You know how it is, Pidge. I get engrossed,  and it wasn’t necessarily sanitary for me to consume my usual meal and then go into quarantine. Plus, I didn’t want to frighten them.”

“I know,” Pidge nodded. She glanced to Romelle, and gave the blonde a cheeky grin. “Romelle can make sure you actually do what you say you will, maybe you can get her to play chess with you.”

Hunk snorted. “Just because you’re sour over losing at chess to me doesn’t mean that you have to throw everyone at me for chess, Pidge.”

Thankfully, Pidge was on Romelle’s side. Despite her mutter of how important it was, which, even Romelle had to admit losing electricity could be disastrous for a community that ran on that entirely. She supposed it was unlikely Hunk would work himself until he was sick or dead.

Still, even zombies had to have a limit, and Romelle didn't want to see what happened when Hunk hit it.

The blonde smiled gratefully back at Pidge. Hunk might be embarrassed, but at least he was finally agreeing to take care of himself. At least, before she realized Pidge was volunteering her to be his chaperone. Suddenly she flushed too, remembering that first day, and how Hunk looked in the shower...

"Uh, I'm not very good at it," she mumbled, "but if you wanted to play…"

Hunk smiled slightly at Romelle. “I wouldn’t make you play if you don’t want to. There’s plenty of other things to do besides chess.” It was sweet of her to offer, honestly. It was rare that people wanted to play with the zombie who was considered the king of patient. “But first...” Hunk glanced up. His gaze settled on Keith. “You don’t smell guilty without a good reason, Keith. What’s eating at you?”

It was incredibly, incredibly hard to hide one’s emotions from Hunk. Even a flash entered the scent in small minuscule amounts, and it would fill Hunk’s nose. He could learn a lot without ever needing words.

Keith had been silent through most of this, gaze still far away. Guilt was thick in his scent. He hadn't expected Hunk to call him out on it. His eyes snapped back to Hunk, brows arched high at first, before pinching together in the middle of his forehead. "Nothing."

Hunk settled his gaze firmly on Keith, and he held firm, setting down to wait him out. Keith was stubborn and he didn’t like being called out on his vulnerabilities, but Hunk was a patient man most days.

Keith hated being vulnerable. He hated the feeling of others eyes on him. Even if he trusted Pidge and Hunk, and had good instincts about Romelle, being outed like that was shocking and alarming. It was his first instinct to shut down, to hide what he was feeling away, to become small and unseen. Reverting back to when he made sure he had no one close so he couldn't get hurt. Back to when he never wanted to give anyone that power over him. Well, anyone except for…

_Shiro._

He hated this. Hunk deserved to rest. He was a good man who had given so much. He looked tired and dirty, and it was selfish of him to come out here with the ulterior motive of asking him to check on Shiro. But he owed everything to Shiro. Altea was his home, and he loved his friends here, but Shiro was the only family he had left. He would do anything to save him like Shiro had done for him so many years ago.

He grimaced, conflicted, and finally raised his gaze to Hunk. "No, it's not nothing," he said. "It's Shiro…" Keith swallowed, letting his emotions show in his intense gaze. A mix of concern, exhaustion, and frustration. "I've been trying to coax him out of the cell for days, but he doesn't... He won't..." He ended with a hard sigh, running his hand through his dark hair.

"Champion," Romelle suddenly murmured.

Keith blinked, and looked up at her. "What?"

"You're talking about Champion, right?"

And Keith had heard the word before. Whispered murmurs back in the med bay when Shiro had been too weak to fight off the medical care Allura gave him his first night in Altea. Hearing it again had him frowning. "Why do you and the others keep calling him that?"

Romelle pursed her lips. "That was his name. Or at least, the name Zarkon gave him. There was a lot of talk about him between the other prisoners. According to them, he had been there for a long time when I arrived."

Keith suddenly looked horrified. "How long?"

For a long while, Romelle was silent. In fact, she seemed to be thinking against it, her brows furrowed in sympathy. "I'm not positive," she finally said, "but it was long enough to become Zarkon's favorite. And long enough that even the guards were scared of him."

And Keith, with his eyes so expressive, absolutely withered. Heart breaking clearly in the mirror of his gaze. "Fuck…"

Hunk sucked a surprisingly rough sound and broke his gaze from them both as his chest gave an agonized throb. He glanced to the ground and raised a hand up to his chest briefly. The mix of smells coming from Keith was borderline poisonous smelling, shock, pain for Shiro, heartbreak. All of it mixed together in a perfume that invaded his lungs and made them sting like he’d inhaled a fresh spritz of pepper spray. It hurt, on a physical level, which matched the emotional pain his friend felt.

He didn’t like when his friends hurt, and he didn’t like it when he couldn’t immediately fix the painful smell of heartbreak oozing from Keith like a noxious oil and poisoning his lungs like a vicious pepper spray. The ache in his chest at not being able to fix it made him tired, so, so tired.

Exhaustion tugged at his bones, and he felt wearily like he might like to just let himself slump boneless into the grass, and let the freshly churned earth swallow him up. But, Hunk’s duties never ended, case in point the fact that Keith, even smelling so guilty that it seemed to nearly choke him, was coming to him about Shiro.

It both exhausted Hunk and warmed his heart that Keith, on some subconscious level, knew that Hunk would do anything he could to help. And help he would. Or, at least he would _try_.

Hunk was a biomechanical engineer by trade. Everything else he had learned had been from books, and from learning from actual doctors he’d met and helped in the middle of the apocalypse. He’d never been one for sewing together wounds, or figuring out which medications were for what, or even what to do when a wound was infected and needed to be lanced. Or, even in one case prior, the entire removal of a limb. Hunk hadn’t ever planned on doing any of that, let alone having to learn how to do it in a makeshift crude fashion outside of a hospital. But he did, and he was not half bad at it.

But, Hunk was not a therapist or a psychiatrist- or any kind of head doctor of any kind. He did his absolute best to help those he could when honestly most people just needed someone to listen most of the time. But… there was a difference in someone who went to school to help people who needed their thoughts sorted, and someone who went to school to make robotic arms for people who lost limbs.

The look on Keith's face had Romelle's heart breaking with him.

A quiet settled over them. Perhaps because the reality of Zarkon's torture was fresh and settling in for the umpteenth time. And Romelle imagined, that as Keith's face morphed into something even darker, it was hitting him the _hardest._

"Fuck!" Keith snapped suddenly, hurt boiling over into rage in an instant. All that fury, however, ended up going no where fast, blowing out like a weak candle and leaving Keith quiet. His bangs slightly obscured his gaze as he turned his eyes back to the graves.

Romelle wished she could help him. She wished she could help everyone. Romelle felt as if that was her purpose. That she had survived the apocalypse, the loss of her family and brother, and then the cruelty of Zarkon, so she could do something about it. Unfortunately, for things like this...

She knew how to cook, and she could clean, and she thought she had satisfactory aim at least. Romelle was no doctor though, and she certainly wasn't a psychiatrist. And that uselessness had her dropping her gaze in shame.

It wasn’t enough, Romelle thought. She wanted to do _more_.

A slight flash of blue had Romelle lifting her gaze again, thoughts derailing.

Hunk’s gaze was briefly caught on the flash of color, which showed itself to be a butterfly as it drifted past his feet and fluttered up to kiss at his dirtied skin for a second, a soft brush of silken legs and wings almost like the brush of tiny fingers brushing his hand. The butterfly didn’t linger before fluttering past him and over to settle into the clean, floral scent of Romelle’s hair.

She watched the delicate fluttering of the butterfly as it made its way towards her. "A Red-Spotted Blue..." She murmured, her lips pulling into a weak smile.

The world was decayed now with all towns and cities abandoned and houses getting swallowed up by nature and death. Yet, despite all the corpses, it was still so beautiful. Seeing and feeling the little butterfly land in her hair, it reminded her of that wonder. It reminded her that she was _alive_. Thanks to Hunk, and Altea, she could see these things again.

Romelle's eyes followed it when it fluttered away, watching it land on her little bouquet and slowly open its wings flat, absorbing the sunlight and delicately drinking from the bright colored petals.

Keith was watching it too.

The butterfly’s wings beat lightly, flexing in hues of glorious powdery colors, and Hunk found himself staring for a moment, drinking in the sight of the butterfly on Romelle. It was a nice mix, he thought,  something pretty, something so sweet and innocent and befitting for someone like her, to be blessed by one of heaven’s angels. The cornflower blue stood out in the blond of her hair, and it almost looked like a hair ornament, if not for the fact that it didn’t seem to be holding still.

He watched it flutter from her as soon as it realized she was not an absurdly tall flower, and his gaze followed it down to the graves where it settled in to collect pollen from the flowers Romelle had settled down there.

It gave him an odd sort of energy to suck in a breath and draw his shoulders up. When he raised his eyes, he had a sort of second wind about him, like the brief touch had breathed a little life back into himself.

There was another few seconds of silence before Hunk spoke.

“Okay.” Hunk shifted gears easily, and watched the resigned look enter Pidge’s eyes as she realized he’d moved into caretaker mode. “If he was there for as long as _that_ implies, he’s probably got all kinds of conditioning and the like on top of all kinds of PTSD.” He ran his hands across his front with a deep sigh. “I’m not a psychiatrist, Keith, but I’ll see if I can do anything to help. He needs to be checked on anyway. He hasn’t come to the medical bay, and there were records of him receiving treatment when he came in.”

However, Hunk was a firm believer in not tracking down people for medical care unless it was dire and they were being stubborn. He didn’t want to become the medic that people feared would track them down for physicals and the like. If they needed help, he’d give them help, but he didn’t want to harass them for it. If it was something he felt necessary, Hunk would generally approach them in a private setting about it if he could, such as the time he’d learned what cancer smelled like.

Keith shifted his gaze away from the butterfly and back to Hunk. There was still something shattered in his gaze, but it seemed brighter; a little more hopeful. As if the gentle reminder of that butterfly had rejuvenated his spirit. "I know," Keith replied.

Hunk couldn't fix Shiro's mind. No one could do that, Keith thought. Maybe only time and kindness could. Hunk could fix Shiro's hands though, and determine if the slightly wheezy sound of his breath was from infection like Keith suspected.

Pidge looked displeased, but incredibly resigned. Medical care of any kind came above all, hence Hunk’s self neglect during the time he’d been devoted to the rescued prisoners from Zarkon’s camp. “You shower, drink another bottle of water, and you eat _first,_ before you do anything else,” she said, her voice dropping into the same flat tone she used when she was incredibly done with Matt’s shenanigans.

Matt had long since perfected his ‘older brother’ act for making Pidge loosen up. But, every Holt had an end to their patience, and even Pidge’s fuse had an end. Matt had a tendency to light the fuse near the end anyways, but that was very simply a brother thing to do.

It was very rare that Hunk got the look. Lance more often got it, he too had been and older brother, and when Matt was out on runs, Lance took it upon himself to usually rile ‘Katie-bear’ into attack mode so she didn’t worry about her older brother so much.

Keith was not surprised when Pidge spoke up then, with a look that he unfortunately knew _very_ well. After all, he had been subjected to that same look on a few occasions himself. However, it was not uncalled for. And as impatient as he was to make sure Shiro was taken care of, Hunk was still his friend. He cared about Hunk's well being too.

Hunk met her look and his face twisted a little, guilt and something that briefly might have been irritation flashing across it. He exhaled a sharp sigh at her though, and simply held his ground. “Jesus Pidge, no need to use the ‘Naughty Matt’ face on me.” He admonished lightly, rocking back just a little on his toes.

“There is _plenty_ of reason to use that face on you.” She unlaced her arm from Keith’s, and gave Hunk a flat look as she crossed her arms. “I know you, and I’ve spent a probably unhealthy amount of time studying your behavior and mannerisms on top of your biology and your odd quirks. You’ll clean up fine, but you’ll neglect anything else you need to do if something more important pops up. Especially if it’s health related.” She paused and tilted her head to glance at Keith. “Shiro’s health _is_ important. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not at all what I'm trying to imply. But, so is yours, Hunk. You can’t help people if you’re not okay.”

"I get it," Keith replied to Pidge, giving her a soft look. He knew she didn't mean it like that.

Hunk grunted, fingers tapping a feather light tune on the water bottle. “I’m stubborn, but not stupid. I’ll hydrate and eat after I shower, and before I go check on Shiro. I promise.”

Pidge nodded at him. “Good. I’m gonna hold you to that, Hunk.”

“I know you will, I know.” His head tilted into a soft nod.

"Pidge is right," Romelle spoke up. She turned her cerulean gaze up to Hunk again. Her voice was soft, just like the look she was giving him. "You might not think your health is just as important as everyone else, but you're wrong. Without you, we might have lost everyone from Zarkon's compound... We didn't, because you take care of them. Now it's time to take care of yourself. You're undead, but you're not lesser than anyone else. You deserve a break too."

There was a crack of shuffling feet over dead limbs deeper in the woods, and Hunk shifted, shoulders rolling with a tiny line of tension. He lifted his head, shoulders dropping as he huffed in a breath through both his mouth and nose. The stink of Keith’s heartbreak was muffling his sense of smell, clinging to him like a skunk’s perfume, but even over it he could scent the approach of his kind.

Hunk was the only zombie who on the norm didn’t smell like months old rotting garbage, honestly. When a horde was moving through, it was easy to tell- if you couldn’t hear their noises, they could be smelled from yards upon yards away even by a human nose.

Romelle might have said something else, but the sudden tension in Hunk's shoulders had her drawing her hand towards her chest as she worriedly watched him cast his gaze out towards the woods behind them, and feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Keith took note of Hunk’s posture within an instant and was already moving. His right hand was pressing into Pidge's lower back to immediately usher her back to the prison, protecting her on instinct despite knowing Pidge was perfectly capable of protecting herself. His left went to the dagger on his hip; a weapon he never left home without. "We should go,” he said, tension radiating off Hunk and into him. Making his voice sound a little lower than normal.

Romelle nodded and quickly followed, unable to keep herself from chancing glances back at the woods now and then.

“Dead incoming?” Pidge guessed. She didn’t have a weapon on her, but she was not often out, which was telltale by the fact she’d been kidnapped the last time she’d been out. All of her weapons were kept where she usually was, her lab and her room. “I figured they’d smell us out and about.”

“Yes.” Hunk sighed. “Not many, but I’d rather they not get riled up with us out here.” He hefted up the shovel and kept a grip on his water bottle as he ushered the trio ahead of him, keeping them along the fence and himself between them and the forest as he trundled along beside them. “I’ll shower and do my basic needs requirements, and then I’ll see to Shiro. Keith? It might go easier if you’re there. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Hunk remembered vividly almost everything said about him. And Hunk definitely was aware that Shiro was _not_ a fan of him.

"I don't mind," Keith said as the four of them began to travel along the fence. His expression shifted though, towards Hunk in clear concern.

Shiro was very open about his disdain for Hunk. Keith knew Hunk knew it, just as he knew Hunk would never abandon a living person who needed his help; especially a living person who meant so much to Keith.

Still, Keith couldn't help but worry. "In fact, I think you might need me there.”

“I don’t doubt that I _will_ need you there.” Hunk gave a weak smile. Shiro had a vicious tongue when it came to Hunk, and he generally wanted nothing to do with Hunk. And, Hunk suspected, Shiro was very likely to turn to violence if he got scared with Hunk too close.

Keith would do wonders to keep him calm. Or at least that was the hope. If not, they were both in for a long couple hours trying to get Shiro the help he needed. Hunk had yet to see any bit of the man that Keith, Pidge and Matt had talked about, but he knew, somewhere deep inside, he was still there. Hunk may never get to see that man, given what he was, but Hunk at least wanted to keep Shiro alive long enough for others to help him try to emerge again.

“Keith will make sure Shiro doesn’t stab you again,” Pidge commented, shuffling her shorter legs quicker to keep up with Keith’s hurried steps. Everyone around her was tall, and she had to hurry quickly to keep up with them all the time. “I’d go with, but you’re all freaking giants, and even if Shiro isn’t the beefcake he used to be, he’s still bigger than me.”

“We’ll see,” Hunk snorted. “You are very small. But don’t you know? Don’t underestimate gremlins, Pidge. They’ll bite off your legs bite by bite until you’re at their height.”

“Ah well, you don’t have to worry, you’ve already sunk to my height with your terrible jokes,” she deadpanned at him.

Hunk’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. Leave it to them, cracking jokes as they hustled their way towards the gate to keep out of range of the approaching zombies. That was just how they worked though. Humor even in the worst of times, it kept spirits high, and high spirits increased chances of survival.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Romelle has a bit more of a spine than she ever thought she did. Hunk is a tired boy who doesn’t have it in him to fight off stubborn women, and he probably needs a nap. Tooooo baaaaaaad he can’t sleep, am I right?
> 
> Also rip my goddamn ass, I have finally been sucked into the MHA fandom, and I bought the entire series on DVD plus a couple plushies. My I sucked my bestie into it, and my mom. My mother loves it. We’ve watched it three times in less than two weeks. Mom hates Bakugo, thinks Midoriya and I share a knack of too many broken bones, and she wants to adopt Todoroki. Aaand she thinks two of the teachers are hot. This is what happens when you introduce your parents to anime, folks. Sometimes they actually like it, and then you’re truly doomed.
> 
> Happy 4th to all of you guys btw!
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: “What kind of movie genres do you associate with each of the Voltron paladins?”
> 
> Strider answer: Honestly? Like, all of them are associated with Sci-fi movies. XD Boring answer, but it is what it is. They’re in space, with aliens, and space cat ships, and one of them is half alien. How much more Sci-fi can you get?
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: “If you could turn gravity off at will for just yourself, something you touched, or a select area, what shenanigans would you get up to?”

Cleaning off the lingering feeling of corpses against his skin along with all of the many thick layers of dirt and Lyme that had encrusted itself under his fingernails felt like heaven, even if the time it took to get everything off left him cold and stiff. One of his next projects, Hunk decided abruptly, would be to actually finish the water heater so they could actually have a warm shower.

He didn’t need to have hot water. Technically, all the cold did was stiffen his limbs and make it harder to move, but the cold couldn’t hurt him really. Or at least, that they knew of. They still bundled him up like they did the others when it came to snow, on the off chance that if he lost a limb to frostbite that it might not actually grow back. With enough cold exposure, Hunk knew he could shiver- which was about as normal of a human body function as he had anymore.

Cold showers, however unpleasant, were no harm to him though. It was simply uncomfortable- and he grew stiff.

So, Hunk soaked for a good half hour in the showers to freshen himself up and chase away any and all lingering smells of grave soil and the stench of sick corpses from his skin. When he finished washing himself and his clothing, Hunk had gotten dried off and put into a fresh set of clothes.

The fresh set had been fetched by Keith, along with one of his many medical fanny packs, and the set of clothes provided were thankfully warm. For all that they sassed Hunk on his sense of style, the massive undead Samoan actually had a decent sense of style. He just didn’t have access to what he would usually wear given their limited wardrobe options. Thankfully, he could still look nice enough in a soft faded red turtleneck and a pair of black cargo pants.

It was comfortable and warm, along with having many pockets for his utility tools, which was absolutely a must. Hunk simply carried too many things for him not to have pockets. He absolutely understood why women before the apocalypse had obsessed over purses given their lack of many and deep pockets.

The things he carried- if he had that limited a space for carrying items, he’d have a lot of purses on top of the fanny packs he usually carried.

With fresh clothes and his shoes back on his feet, Hunk left the bathroom and trudged on his own towards the kitchen and the dining hall.

To his surprise, when he entered the kitchen, he wasn’t alone. Romelle was at the stove, warming up what looked and smelled like the batch of cocoa that had been left over from the night prior’s dinner. He could see Keith and Pidge seated on the other side of the serving station, the duo clearly having gone there once Keith had given him his clothing.

Hunk gave her a sheepish smile and tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear as he stepped over almost jauntily towards the freezer room. Hunk slipped inside, a tiny shiver traveling up his arms as his bare fingers, still chilled by the shower, groped up the icy wall to click on the light.

As she caught sight of Hunk entering the kitchen, Romelle lifted her hand and waved back, giving him a friendly smile before he turned away. Hunk seemed apprehensive, but she let it go, and turned back to the pot to stir the hot cocoa inside as she listened to Keith and Pidge. Or more accurately, it was more like listen to Pidge talk excitedly while Keith added occasional tidbits of his own.

Hunk had been honest with her the first day she had come here, yet the fact had slipped her mind until now. As Hunk disappeared into the freezer room, she remembered, quite vividly, that he was undead, and that came with the unfortunate side effect of a complete diet change. And knowing what it was he was about to retrieve, she paled, and her hand stopped stirring.

"I think it's done," Keith murmured.

Romelle brought her gaze to him. Keith's gaze was intense, but not unkind, searching her as if making sure she was alright.

"Oh," she mumbled, and shut off the heat.

Romelle served the two of them their mugs, and then proceeded to join Pidge and Keith as they left the kitchen.

Back in the freezer, undead man rubbed his palms together, and then sidled over to his personal freezer marked in big warning letters.

The locked lid was easily dealt with as he fetched the hanging key, poking his head inside to peruse over his meal options while Romelle warmed up the last little bit of cocoa to give out to the three humans.

Inside the freezer was stocked on one side with human flesh. There was a fair chunk, all stocked up for when Hunk needed his version of medical care, piled high on a carefully installed shelf. It was all labeled in it’s wrapping too, based upon when it was ‘harvested’. It was generally proven based on some of the zombie meat that he consumed, that Hunk could eat human flesh regardless of its freshness.

Honestly, the labeling system was more for Pidge’s sake, so she could keep track for if a meat from a specific time frame ever stopped healing him.

The zombie flesh took up the rest of the freezer, along with the single plate and silverware that Hunk had chosen for himself. Given the fact that they had limited supplies, it was easier to segregate his dishes that were in contact with highly infectious flesh rather than trying to deep sanitize everything that he ate off of. He even had his own glass in the cupboard for drinking out of, after all.

Once they had hot water and could deep sanitize things, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue. But, hot water was still something he hadn’t quite gotten going yet. Soon though- there were a small smattering of parts he needed to get the heater working, but he should be able to get them with the next few trips he took outside of Altea for scavenging.

Until then, they had to make due with segregation of dishware.

Hunk tossed two frozen lumps of zombie flesh onto his plate, leaving the wrapping on as he shut and locked the freezer once more. The key was tucked where it was kept hidden before to keep the kids or any wandering hands from venturing into his freezer, and then Hunk headed back out again with his meal and dishware.

He hesitated as he hit the kitchen. The dining hall was, for once, empty besides the three who had taken to keeping him company until he and Keith went to check on Shiro. Romelle had finished the cocoa, and had moved out with the other two, which left the kitchen all to him to settle in while Pidge yammered at the two of them about something or other.

Hunk generally didn’t like to eat in the kitchen given contamination chances, but he didn’t want to disturb the others either. It was one thing _knowing_ what he was rather than _seeing_ it in action. Seeing him eat wasn’t ever a pretty sight, even if he used silverware to make it less ghastly.

But, it was one evil or another, and Hunk had to choose the one with less chance for an epidemic of the zombie virus.

With hunched shoulders, the Samoan slid out of the kitchen and into the mess hall, glancing at the group as he trudged past them to go back to the far corner to eat and not bother them. He cracked a tiny grin for them, mostly so they’d know he wasn’t upset by his seating choice, and chose the farthest seat to settle down in, settling with his back to them so they didn’t have to watch him begin to unwrap his meal.

Romelle’s fingers were wrapped tight around the warm ceramic as she watched Hunk emerge from the kitchen, trying to absorb the heat now that her body was suddenly so cold and unsteady. Romelle know what was on his plate, and her stomach churned. Her intention had been to join Hunk here before he had to leave with Keith, but now she wasn't so sure…

Simultaneously, her heart suddenly felt sucker punched as she watched him slink away from them, like a dog with its tail between its legs. As if he was doing something _wrong_.

 _It wasn't his fault._ Romelle told herself that as she pursed her lips. He smiled as if it was normal, as if they shouldn't worry, but of course she did. She hadn't been here long, but she had already seen enough. Out of the surprising amount of survivors in Altea, only five of them really seemed to accept Hunk for what he was. Most hated and feared him, others tolerated him. And that _wasn't_ fair.

He did so much for them- for everyone. Hadn't he already proved to them he was worth more than to be shunned away until he was needed?

Pidge watched Hunk go, and sighed through her teeth, light brown eyes sliding back over to Romelle as she settled a bit to the side and leaned on Keith. Over the years, Hunk had gotten more and more reclusive with his eating habits. A lot of it, Pidge knew, came from the reactions of others- but none of them, Pidge, Keith, or even Lance, made the effort to really try and heckle Hunk into joining them anyway for food. Hunk was incredibly sensitive to everyone- upsetting Altea residents with his natural body habits generally seemed to upset him.

Kindness was a double sided blade, Pidge thought. It could cut the one who wielded it just as deep as the one on the end of the blade.

The sigh pulled her gaze over, and Romelle met Pidge's eyes this time. Somehow, she just knew that the other woman agreed with her. Hunk deserved better than this.

Mind made up, Romelle steeled herself. Gripped her mug tighter, she took a deep breath before marching across the kitchen with purpose.

Keith's brows shot up in surprise, his arm around Pidge going a little slack. "Romelle?" He asked, but she didn't answer, and she didn't stop. He shared a look with Pidge.

Pidge gave him an equally bewildered look, not entirely certain what the woman was doing initially.

Hunk was sensitive about this. As much as it pained him in much the same way it pained Pidge, and Romelle, Keith didn't approach because he didn't want to upset his friend. So, he gave him his space instead. And, maybe, a little selfishly, he didn't _want_ to see Hunk chowing away on flesh. It made him feel guilty for feeling that way, but for all of his trust and affection he held for his friend, Hunk, on a base level, still _frightened_ him.

He had seen a lot of people get eaten and torn apart by the hordes of the undead, as he was sure Romelle had too at the hands of Zarkon. Yet, she was going anyway. And Keith was equally as ashamed as he was shocked.

Marching around the table, Romelle came to a halt directly across from Hunk. Her eyes dropped to the chunk of frozen flesh on his plate, but she forced her gaze back up to his face and forced herself to swallow the churning of her stomach and the sudden surge of adrenaline in her veins as fight or flight kicked in.

This was _Hunk_. He was her _friend_. And he needed to eat just like everyone else. She could do this.

Stubbornly, courageously, Romelle placed her mug down and plopped herself down in the seat. Her back was rigid, but her lips pulled up into a wavering smile all the same, blue eyes trained on his forehead and refusing to look down at his plate.

"You look better," she informed him, only to inwardly cringe. That sounded so _rude!_ Romelle could already feel her cheeks growing hot. "I mean, you don't look as tired." Yeah, not really making it any better…

Hunk hadn’t even really set in to his meal before he’d found himself with company for the first time in a long time. However, Hunk was very, very observant, and he saw quite clearly the first thing that Romelle’s gaze dropped to was his plate. He slid his forearm in front of it self consciously, aware that it was disgusting.

Zombie flesh didn’t age like human flesh did. Human flesh acted, as he’d learned, a lot like beef and pork did. Not only was human blood red, but it also darkened in color and simply got white along the edges as it got slightly freezer burnt. It was still edible.

The flesh of the undead- which was his primary meal source- was nothing like human flesh. It might have been human once, but the corruption of the virus was a nasty process, and it showed in the flesh. Zombie blood was black and incredibly viscous when cold, and the meat itself was only slightly red.

They didn’t have concrete evidence yet, but they had theories that meat from each strain of the virus turned colors differently as it aged in the freezer. No two meats from the undead were ever the same color after a few months, though ‘harvests’ from the same corpse usually maintained the same coloration.

This time, his meal was a disgusting mix of red, frozen black blood, and a bruised purple color. It was an older ‘cut’ from the freezer, and looked more like something out of a Dr. Seuss novel than it did like something off of a zombie.

Still- the knowledge of what it was, and the faint smell of frozen zombie- was likely enough to revolt just about anyone.

He could smell her disgust and anxiety at being so close to him while he was eating. He knew it bothered her- just as he knew her reaction to him seemed to bother her. She didn’t like that her instinctive reaction was normal- and that he seemed to expect it.

She was trying. Romelle was sitting down, and trying to make a conversation with him. Her gaze, once it settled on his face, didn’t waver, though she looked pale and her smile was shaky. She was making an honest effort, even though she was nowhere near as used to him as any of the original group were. All of his issues, all of his odd, zombie quirks, all of it was still relatively new to her. But, she was trying to get used to it and was making an active effort in not falling into the herd mentality that the vast majority of Altea had when it came to him.

He knew it quite well, especially when she didn’t _leave_ , even when it took him a few seconds to reply to her.

Hunk offered her a close-lipped smile after a few moments. His teeth hadn’t been defiled yet, but he wasn’t sure how to go about eating and not utterly _horrifying_ her. “A shower can do that for most people. Cold showers are especially good at waking people up. And I _did_ just come out of the freezers. The cold is quite good for waking anyone up, really.”

"Yeah…"

This felt awkward, and she knew it was her fault. Hunk had moved to cover the chunk of flesh with his arm from her view, an immediate indication that he was aware it made her uncomfortable. It was hard not to be.

Romelle felt guilty about it. She didn't want him to be uncomfortable, or for the situation to be awkward. She just wanted to try and help him look and feel less lonely. Especially after everything he had done for her.

He shifted, his back straightening from his hunch. He kept his arm in front of his plate, thick forearm keeping the relatively small portion of zombie flesh hidden from view. His fingers fiddled with his utensils for a moment, as honey-amber eyes broke from hers, and slid down to his plate. Hunger clenched at his stomach, deep and unending. He didn’t hunger for the flesh on his plate- no zombie really wanted to eat another zombie. It was a good filler food though, a good alternative meal plan when he couldn’t consume anything else but human, or what was once human.

Finally Hunk slid his arm out from in front of his plate, and took his knife and his fork to the frozen chunks. He worked at slicing it into strips so he could actually eat it without being an uncouth heathen. Hunk didn’t have a problem just biting into it while frozen- it was sort of like a disgusting Popsicle, but his jaw strength was higher than that of the average human.

Zombie did taste better frozen over thawed though- and the sound of frozen meat being cut was better than the slippery squish of meat mushing under his fork.

When his eyes shifted downward, and he relaxed his posture, Romelle took a deep breath before following suit, watching his hands as he started to carve into rotten flesh. Slowly she put the mug of hot cocoa down, her stomach suddenly rejecting the thought of having anything else in it. Watching the dark sludge that had already begun to thaw seep out of the meat as Hunk cut was just too much.

She didn't respond at first when he looked back up at her. Romelle's eyes were transfixed. She swallowed heavily, mouth full of thick saliva that felt too hot. She could swear she could smell it, even if it was frozen; that foul stench of death that had been all she had known for the past lifetime she spent locked in a kennel. The urge to gag was strong, and she blinked rapidly to clear the brimming moisture in her gaze.

Knowing he ate human flesh was hard for her, but this... This was so much _worse_.

“The cocoa smells good.” He commented, eyes flicking back up to her as he cut his meal into strips. She needed to be snapped out of her focus- it wasn’t a pretty sight, watching him cut up a meal, and she didn’t need to watch him do it. “You’re getting better at making the cocoa- all of you are also doing a lot better with meals. I’m thinking here, maybe by next week, you might be ready for something a little more solid. I might take a night and hand make some pasta. I don’t have the material to make anything super fancy, but we do have some tomatoes ripe- I could work on a spaghetti sauce with some of the elk. What do you think?”

When both packages of zombie- which was, according to the packaging, apparently close on to two years old- had been sliced, he ran into his previous issue. He wasn’t sure how he could eat and have an actual conversation with her- and lapsing into the sound of his chewing was going to be incredibly awkward.

His gaze slid back down to his meal, and he felt his shoulders slump just a bit. The hunger was deep, and letting it fester too much longer was bad- and he could feel Pidge watching him, like she knew he may consider simply not eating.

Slowly, hesitantly, he picked up one piece of the cold meat with his fork, and tucked it into the back of his mouth. His teeth worked it into a foul tasting mush, and Hunk felt his stomach lurch just a bit at the taste against his tongue before he swallowed it down. It was definitely an older cut, and absolutely beyond foul. But, food was food- and no sense wasting it, even if it made his face twist in disgust at his meal.

Zombie meat came in one of two forms- gross, and grosser. This just happened to be the grosser form- and Hunk didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if it was thawed. Telltale to his undead body’s constitution though, the clearly spoiled zombie flesh stayed down even as he unhappily worked through eating it.

Romelle could imagine what it was like better than Hunk might think to deal with the never ending hunger. It was the same bottomless feeling inside that was as cold and barren like a deep winter. To smell food that made your stomach clench angrily and your mind go fuzzy, and yet to have it was completely unattainable.

She knew too, what it felt like to have those cravings that were never satisfied by the tiny and often rotten rations Zarkon decided to feed his prisoners on days he felt gracious. She knew what it felt like to be desperate enough to scoop whatever sludge he gave them into her mouth just to try and end that bitter feeling of being empty.

Her disgust was not in Hunk. It was in what he was forced to eat. Enough that when he pulled it into his mouth, she cringed right along with him.

To make it worse, Hunk was a chef, and he cooked for everyone. He cared so much about making sure they all ate well, despite his own unfortunate diet restrictions

"... It's unfair..." She whispered suddenly. Finally, she brought her eyes back up, and her brows pinched together as she met honey eyes.

The look in Hunk’s eyes said he heard her whisper- but he chose to let her continue to believe it was a private sound. Whispers didn’t escape his ears- he prompted her gently to ponder the offer of pasta at a later date.

Romelle’s thoughts did slide back to his prior question, and her mind definitely jumped with joy at the thought of pasta. It had been a long time since she had a dish like that. And it didn't matter how simple; even if all she could eat for the rest of her life was that oatmeal and this hot cocoa Hunk had showed her how to make, it was better than rotten slop. Pasta was just one more step to _normal_. One step closer to being a human being again.

Those sapphire eyes lit up, giving her away. Even with an unsettled stomach, she would never turn down food.

Her heart, however, was dull.

"I don't want to talk about me," she said then, rather than answering more than her perked gaze had. Hunk had a habit of talking about what others needed and ignoring himself. He called it hyperfocusing on things that needed to be taken care of, and Pidge had scolded him outside for it, but Romelle suspected it was so much deeper than he let on.

“Alright.” He ducked his head just a bit, keeping his lips low over his teeth as he scooped up another bite of his meal.

Romelle stared at him for a moment. When he turned undead, did he decided it was worth settling for just existing? Did he really stop thinking of himself as someone worth _living_?

"You really can't eat anything else?" She asked, but it wasn't accusatory. Instead, Romelle looked upset. "I heard from the others that you go hunting sometimes; have you ever tried to eat that? Raw venison or rabbit has to be better than eating _them_."

Hunk swallowed his mouthful of sludge, and took a moment to suck his teeth as clean as he could. It didn’t get it all off- only his weird self cleaning saliva would really do that and leave his teeth sparkling white. But, he didn’t want to have to actually face the concern and upset in her voice with gore in his teeth.

Slowly, Hunk exhaled and tilted his head up. “I do go hunting, yes. However there are two kinds of hunting parties. For the first, I’m more or less their tracker.” A glorified bloodhound, really. “I can track the deer and elk for miles, and they don’t react to my scent anymore since the undead don’t bother them. Usually I take a hunting party with me, and I haul back whatever they manage to shoot.” His fingers tapped idly on the table. “The second, Lance and I hunt down what’s on my plate.”

As the zombies outside aged, so did their meat- and sometimes they weren’t in the best conditions. In a world ravaged by time and the apocalypse, a lot of them came by in various states of… well, being torn up. They didn’t necessarily rot so to speak, but they did get… _gooey_. And Hunk didn’t particularly like to slurp up goop that tasted like rotten garbage. So it became necessary to search for the less time ravaged cadavers.

Lance was usually his companion for it. Hunk could pick and kill his target easily enough, but Hunk didn’t have the stomach for carving them up, really. Lance was the one who usually handled it for him now.

It was hard to think there was a time when Hunk had managed to do it all on his own- he had done it, but it was easier with Lance helping him.

“I’m limited to exactly three known things that I can eat, Romelle, without my body rejecting them.” He shifted in his seat, and found it hard to hold her gaze. He poked his fork blandly at his meal. The thin slices were starting to thaw. Gross. “Human is rationed out only when I need to heal. This is what I eat normally. It’s… _Cheaper_ , I suppose. It keeps the hunger at bay. We also call it… I dunno. Economical recycling?”

He gave a shrug. There weren’t enough Humans alive for Hunk to just keep hunting them to feed himself. It was cheaper on all of them if they just took the ever plentiful corpses and used them to feed him. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t be killed eventually anyway. If Hunk could find use out of them, then, well, he’d be a cannibal.

Eating rotten slop was better than taking someone’s life just so he could have a taste of the sweet ambrosia taste of fresh human flesh.

It seemed foolish of her to ask. Of course Hunk would have tried animal meat before. She couldn't imagine that he would have _chosen_ this disgusting slab of meat before him to take up his entire diet. As far as she knew, which wasn't entirely all that much, zombies did not eat one another; they ate only the living.

However, it wasn't as simple as a diet choice. It wasn't that he couldn't stand the taste or texture. No, it wasn't anything like how she used to hate Lima beans because of their taste, or how pea soup and custard pies used to make her want to throw up because of the texture. No, for Hunk, the meat he ate was because his body punished him for eating _anything_ else.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed.

Her eyes were moist, brimming with tears that wouldn't fall. Her heart was breaking for the man before her. It didn't matter Hunk seemed to accept the terrible slap in the face the universe gave him; Romelle didn't. It was more than _just_ unfair. It was unjust torture, especially for a man who had to have so much good karma piled up from saving and tending to so many.

Hunk glanced down at his plate, acknowledging her apology with a small wave of his hand. He sighed, before scooping up another bite of his slowly softening meal. He had to eat it quick or it would get worse tasting. He worked through a couple mouthfuls, mostly swallowing the cold meat that was rapidly turning slippery, without chewing it.

“Honestly,” he said, “I wish I could eat other meats. Chicken, elk, venison- it smells _amazing,_ I’m not going to lie. I _can_ taste everything you can- I could drink hot cocoa if I wanted to and enjoy the flavor just as much as I enjoy the smell. But...” His hair flopped into his eyes as he shook his head, and he lifted his fingers to card them through the damp strands, tossing them back out of the way.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain to her that he couldn’t keep any of it down. Hunk had tried everything- he’d learned the hard way what could and could not be eaten. If he flavored his water, it had to be all natural, and not heavy. Such as putting a single mint leaf in a pitcher of water. Human taste buds couldn’t taste it, but his could. It was a treat for him- but they didn’t have mint anymore that they could spare for his tiny treats.

All of the mint was saved and dried for the winter season when folks got sick. The mint calmed stomachs and helped them through the cold seasons when people inevitably got sick. Kids were hard to handle when their tummies felt icky- and peppermint was fantastic at calming upset stomachs.

“But,” He continued finally, “I can’t keep any of it down.” He settled on telling her the flat and simple truth. “Nothing else besides human, water, and zombie stays down for more than a couple hours. But it’s… it’s okay. I can still enjoy other things via scent. This,” he glanced at his slowly emptying plate, “I only have to eat this once every couple of days, really. I’m used to it by now. I know it isn’t fair, Romelle, but… it’s just how life is. It’s okay- _really_.” Honey-amber eyes sought out her gem like sapphire eyes, and he held her gaze earnestly.

She dropped her gaze, fingers tightening around the mug in her hand. For a long moment, she was quiet, brows furrowed and thoughtful as she stared down at the dark liquid as the steam slowly billowed out of her mug.

No, she _refused_ to accept it. There had to be another way.

Romelle swallowed the tight feeling in her throat before finally looking back up. She ran her fingers over her eyes, clearing them, before she spoke. "I admire you," Romelle admitted. Her voice was soft, and tender. "I don't know if I could do everything that you do had I been the one to be bitten and made to come back. I know I couldn't eat _that_." She gave his plate a look as if it had offended her.

It was a quick flash, the revulsion and the disgust, the horror at what he was making himself consume, before her gaze was back to something tender and perhaps a little shy yet sincere.

Romelle, Hunk thought, was an open book full of mysteries that he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand. She was horrified at what he was eating, revolted even- but she was upset for him. Her eyes watered for him- for someone who was already dead and gone and past saving. Hunk wasn’t sure he’d ever understand it- but she was probably the purest gem he’d ever seen in their rough world.

"You have done so much for me, maybe more than you realize. Seeing you smiling and so strong despite everything you've been forced to go through... It inspired me. It made me believe I could do it too." A light flush rose to her cheeks, dusting them in a rosy hue. This was a bit vulnerable, but she didn't regret saying it. Hunk deserved to hear it. Romelle thought he didn't hear it enough. "I want to give back- and don't say I already do because I help out in the kitchen because that's _not_ what I mean. I want to give back to _you._ " Romelle looked determined. "I want to find a better solution then just eating _them._ There has to be another option."

Hunk had finished his plate while she’d been talking, so he was able to set down his utensils and turn his full attention to her. The hunger had eased, now settling into the ache he got when he consumed his own kind’s flesh. It wasn’t the same as the ache of sickness- but it was clear his body was never completely happy eating zombie flesh.

“Romelle...” He murmured softly, gaze settling on her soft rosy flush. It was lovely, he thought, brightening her pale skin like the sun. His hands had just been forking dead flesh into his mouth, so though they twitched, he kept them still on the table. Instead, he reached out a foot to very gently nudge hers, aware that his boots were large, heavy, and reinforced and could likely hurt her. “Romelle, you don’t have to give me _anything_ back. Just… you being my friend is _enough_ , you know? You being brave enough to come over here, to not run even though this,” his fingers motioned at the plate, “disgusted you and terrified you, it means the _world_ to me. I would rather _you_ be comfortable, though. You don’t have to sit with me.”

He was doing his best not to open his mouth very wide, aware his teeth were stained a gory black with coagulated zombie blood and would be for a while until his saliva bleached his teeth back to white again. He probably couldn’t keep it all covered, but he did his absolute best- and did his best to breathe very little. Until his mouth cleaned itself, Hunk had what Lance called ‘zombie breath’. Hunk would kill- okay, no, he’d probably not kill someone for it, but he would really, really like to have something he could use as toothpaste to clean his mouth faster.

The problem was, the fluoride and chemicals in most toothpastes triggered one hell of a nasty gag reflex in him with his heightened senses. So, alas, there was nothing to do but be at the mercy of his biology, ‘zombie breath’ and gross teeth be damned.

His eyes softened at her earnest determination to try and find something he could eat besides ‘them’. He was one of ‘them’, though she was clearly not classifying him as one. She hadn’t seen the parts of him that weren’t so gentle- that were more frightening and more monster than human. She was so earnest and pure- so sweet. So many people were jaded against what he was, and here she was, sitting across from him, trying to figure out something he could eat besides what amounted to fetid garbage.

She knew she didn't _have_ to, and Romelle would be lying if she told Hunk there wasn't still a part of her that wanted to run as far and fast as she could. Years surviving the apocalypse meant learning how to adapt, and it became almost base instinct to want to avoid anything zombie for as long as possible. To sit here with him was to ignore that new base instinct.

However, Hunk... Hunk deserved to have company like a normal functioning _person_. Because he wasn't an eating machine, but a good _man_.

"I know," she replied, "but I _wanted_ too."

He looked back at her then, and she felt her heart sink. Romelle knew he was going to reject her offer just from the look on his face.

“Romelle… I don’t know that there is anything to be done. The only other option is eating human. And Romelle- we ration that out for _healing_. I’m… I’m no better than the _monsters_ outside if I just eat human to escape the taste.” Honey-amber searched her eyes, begging her to understand what he was meaning.

It _hurt._ Her brows pinched on her forehead as she stared back into his searching gaze. He was begging her to understand, but she already did. "That's not what I meant," she breathed. Momentarily, she was horrified that Hunk thought that she meant it that way. Perhaps, even a little offended. Of course she didn't want him to eat human flesh just to escape the putrid taste. What she wanted, was for him to have a better option than the decaying meat of the undead.

“I know you didn’t.” He nodded softly. “But… There are only so many bad people in the world, Romelle- and if I consumed human, I’d run out of them eventually- and then when I needed to be patched up, we’d be in a bit of a mess. I’ve got two rules- I won’t eat friends, and I won’t eat a good person. This,” he tapped the plate with his pinky, “is… Is sort of our only option. I’m on borrowed time anyway, Romelle.”

Hunk didn’t _have_ a future like they did. Hunk was _dead_ \- his veins ran thick with black, tainted sludge, his saliva was toxic, and his heart no longer beat. He didn’t sleep, didn’t tire like they did, and his body wasn’t bound to the same physical constraints that it used to be. When they eventually ran out of undead to kill, leaving him with the _only_ option of eating humans, or Pidge finally succeeded in her long term goal to make a cure…

There would only be one option left for Hunk. And Hunk- Hunk knew exactly what that option was.

So did Lance.

His words had her stunned into silence for far too long. The pain in her chest, starting small like a crack in her heart, gave way to the pressure, shattering deep inside of her and piercing her lungs with every breath like her heart had just become glass, broken with jagged edges.

She grit her teeth and looked away from him. "I don't believe that." Romelle's eyes were on her hot cocoa again. It was cool enough to drink now, but suddenly she couldn’t handle the thought of trying.

“Just… be my friend.” He gave her a close-lipped smile, and it was radiant like the sun, trying to soothe away the pain he’d caused her. It was a hard truth to face- something that Lance still struggled with, he knew. “That’s enough for me, okay? I promise. You don’t have to do anything else for me- just being my friend is enough.”

"I hate how you seem think you're making your way slowly to the gallows..." She admitted after a short moment of silence. Her voice sounded strained, a mix of anger and hurt. "I don't care if you are one of _them_. As far as I'm concerned; you're a thinking, feeling, breathing person like me, and that makes you _alive_." Finally she looked up, finding that golden gaze again. She frowned in contrast to his smile. "As far as I'm concerned, that means you deserve a chance to live just like everyone one of us."

Romelle didn't even want to imagine that Hunk might be right; that perhaps his time was borrowed, that perhaps there was no hope for him to have a better diet, or a happier existence. She couldn't entertain these things because it only made the hurt worse.

Maybe it was ignorance, or denial, but she just _couldn't_ do it.

"I'm not just going to let you give up on yourself," she said. "There _has_ to be something else you can eat besides this, or something we can do to make it more bearable, just…" Her deep blue eyes were pools of agony. "I _am_ your friend," Romelle told him then, her voice wavering. "That’s why I _have_ to do something. I know I haven't known you as long as the others, but watching you shun yourself away or ignore your needs _hurts_. Watching you be forced to stomach the meat of those things is like watching someone being tortured for doing the right thing." Romelle's mind was made up. Despite her pain, she was determined. "You deserve better, and if there is a better option out there, I will find it for you."

Hunk found himself just sort of staring at her in what he could only call a stupefied silence, the smile fading from his face rather rapidly.

He hadn’t ever expected for her to be moved to something close to what might have been tears- and what his nose could consider sorrow? He wasn’t sure what that emotion was, only it was very closely related to the smell he got when he had to tell people their loved ones hadn’t come back from missions. Heartbreak, he supposed. He wasn’t sure- but it confused him to smell it coming from her for _him_.

She was completely upset over him and over what he wasn’t capable of- and his acceptance of his fate was too much for her, clearly. She was refusing to accept it- accept any of it. And, Hunk thought, if he pushed too hard, too far… He’d push her away.

There was a small part of him that thought he _should_. The small, broken part of him that feared people getting too close _because_ of what he was screamed that he needed to show her something, _anything_ , that would make her understand that he didn’t have a hope- that she didn’t need to do anything for him. That would, maybe, keep her at enough distance for her to be safe from what he was.

His fingers twitched against the table, and he exhaled a long breath, blowing it down against the cold table top so it didn’t blow the smell of his meal towards her.

Whatever small part of him was broken by everything was weaker than the parts of him that were kind and didn’t want to hurt people. Or perhaps, it was weaker than his desire not to be _alone_. Having friends is what kept him sane in this hell-hole of a world. Lance kept him sane once they’d reconnected- and his network had only grown.

Hunk didn’t want to lose any one of them- and certainly, he didn’t want to lose any _more_ of them.

What made Romelle so amazing, he thought, was her willingness to see him as a person despite what he was. She acknowledged that he was one of them- one of the dead, one of the monsters who had ravaged the world, and yet she also called him a living person. She was determined to make him see that too, he realized. And, he mused, a determined woman was a thing to see.

He knew that well- he lived in a prison with several of them.

“Okay.” He said. And that was that. Simplicity in itself. He held her pained gaze with his own resigned one, and slowly shifted in his seat, leaning back a little and straightening his shoulders. “Okay, Romelle. I’m not going to tell you that you can’t. If that’s what you want to do, then I’m not going to stop you. You and I can continue to look for meal alternatives if that’s what you want to do.”

He couldn’t promise her that she was going to change his outlook on his fate. Hunk had accepted his fate a long time ago, and long time-realized things were hard to change. He’d realized it when he’d first come back and had realized that he was too much of a coward to do what he _should_ have done. Hunk didn’t want to die- but just because he didn’t want to die didn’t mean he shouldn’t have. Hunk had done horrible things- things he could never make up for. His life was absolutely over. But- just because his was over…

Hunk could still _do_ something with what un-life he had left. Until he met that unfortunate end from someone’s gun, or just went feral finally and someone tossed a bullet in him to put him down, Hunk had decided he would devote himself into making sure he could make as many people as possible survive. But not just survive- no, he wanted them to live, and _thrive_. He wanted to hear laughter, hear and smell happy people socializing and just… experiencing the world.

And so far… Hunk had done a pretty good job of it. Mostly. Somewhat. The graveyard spoke measures against it, but there were more living than dead.

Romelle gasped on a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. Shocked that Hunk had agreed so easily. It left Romelle blinking rapidly as he leaned back in his chair and resigned to her fierce determination and will.

She felt a little guilty. Romelle hadn't wanted Hunk to feel forced into doing this. Most of her, however, was thrilled that she wouldn't have to keep fighting to show him he was worth more than what he thought he was.

She knew Hunk was biding his time before he eventually died, simply living each day as if he was already one step into his metaphorical grave. She knew because she had seen it before in her brother, in the last month where they had been surviving together out in the world. Seeing him full of hope at the beginning only to fall into the shadows of despair and give up had sliced her deeply.

Romelle knew he died because she hadn't been able to save him from himself. She had failed to protect him in that way.

She couldn't watch Hunk walk the same path.

If there were bad men like Zarkon, who was living yet deserved to die for his lack of heart and empathy, then how could Hunk be so convinced there couldn't be _good_ zombies who deserved to live? He lacked a heart beat, but he more than made up for it with his kindness. Surely that was evidence enough.

And she would do her damnedest to try and help him believe it, to try and succeed in where she had failed with her brother. To prove to Hunk that he was wrong, and that he deserved to live.

Hunk’s eyes searched hers gently, and he quietly gathered his plate and utensils. He needed to go wash them- and now that he was done, she could probably use some time to socialize with the normal humans, where she could be comfortable enough to actually drink her hot cocoa.

“Thank you for sitting with me.” He offered her the smallest of quirky grins- forgetting for the tiniest moment that the tiny glint of teeth wouldn’t be the cleanest.

His smile startled her, yet despite the tinge of black on his teeth, Romelle found herself smiling back. It was getting a little easier. "Thank you for letting me," she replied immediately. It had not escaped her attention that Hunk had been uncomfortable with her there.

She imagined, with all the fearful whispers around the compound she had caught wind of about him, it would have been hard for him to eat in front of someone he didn't know as well as Pidge or Keith. Romelle was truly grateful he had let her stay, and even more so, that he had not been offended by her fear and disgust.

“I’m sorry I upset you with what I said- but I am serious about what I said. If you want to look into alternative meals, I’ll help you. We can rope Pidge in too. She’s always into seeing what weird things I can and can’t eat.” Case in point the whole ‘fly’ conversation from earlier, where Pidge had teased him about eating bugs. Hunk was not a fan of that idea at all.

"It's okay.” Romelle peered up at him. “I'm sorry too for bringing up such a difficult topic... I'm glad we talked about it though. And I'm grateful you're giving me a chance."

“The hard topics are the ones that need to be talked about the most.” Hunk tipped his head to her lightly. “Just expect a lot of failures, alright? And… Know that the failures aren’t the _prettiest_ things to see. Still- we can give it a go. Make cooking and science one project, y’know?”

Her determination became something kinder in the face of his admission. "I know," she said. "I don't expect it to be easy."

She had a feeling Hunk had probably tried everything he could think of. Maybe even had help from Pidge and the others already. Maybe Romelle could find something they couldn't however? After saving her life, it was the least she could do.

“Did someone say science?” Pidge interjected, her attention drawn to them from her seat with Keith a couple tables over. They’d been watching, and quietly conversing to themselves- but Hunk and Romelle had been too far away to hear for the most part. Pidge had an ear for the word ‘science’ though.

It was a running joke that just mentioning it would summon the ‘science gremlin’.

Pidge's sudden interjection pulled Romelle's gaze over, and she lifted a hand to hide some of her amusement. "Hunk and I are thinking about starting an experiment," she said to the other woman.

Keith gave Pidge a tender smile while she wasn't looking. He both loved and hated her mind. For it was active always, and sometimes it saved their asses when it counted, and other times it left her unable to get any sleep; torturing her with mysteries that no amount of his gentle coaxing could ease her out of. And sometimes, he was jealous of how quickly knowledge seemed to steal her attention from him, like at this very moment.

Pidge was Pidge though. She would always be this way. And as much as it sometimes angered and pained him, for the most part, he admired it. No one was as smart as she was. And he considered himself very lucky to be in her corner.

His eyes lingered on Pidge for a few seconds before lifting to Hunk. His expression changed as he watched him gathering his things, slipping from Pidge oriented affection to a grim determination as he started to get up from the table himself. He was ready to join him.

Romelle had Pidge’s attention instantly- though Keith moving did grab her eye briefly. She glanced at him, honeyed gaze lighting up in understanding, and she shifted up as well. Her cocoa wasn’t done, but neither was Romelle’s- and the two women were absolutely going to talk and plot this experiment if Pidge had anything to say about it.

Pidge leaned over the table to smooch Keith’s cheek, because science or no, he was her boyfriend and he got loves too before she got lost in science. Once she’d blessed his cheek with a possibly cocoa-mustache tinted kiss, she scuttled across the room and dove for Hunk’s prior seat.

Hunk dodged out of the way as Pidge literally slid into his seat, and he gave a short laugh, shuffling his dishes to drop a hand and ruffle her messy hair. “Alright, well, that’s Pidge speak for ‘you have her attention’.” He translated for Romelle.

Romelle's eyes widened as Pidge nearly shoved Hunk out of his seat, blinking quickly and grasping her mug in both hands. She really had no idea what she was getting into when she mentioned the word 'experiment.'

Pidge settled easily, and gave Romelle her whole attention. “He’s not wrong. So, experiment?” She laced her fingers, elbows on the table, and plopped her chin on her upraised linked hands. “What are we experimenting on? Don’t worry, I can fill Hunk in later on whatever consensus we come up with.”

Romelle especially had no idea how deep she’d gotten when Pidge assumed the creepy-villain-position, as Keith liked to call it. That was more than just 'having her attention,' and Keith had a feeling he was gonna be hearing about it later on in her excited rambles before bed.

Keith left them to it, his cheek still tingling a little from where Pidge had pressed her lips against his skin.

Hunk shook his head, and gave Romelle an amused look, before abandoning the other woman to her fate. They’d awoken the science gremlin, so someone had to answer to her before Pidge simply dragged them both into one of her cockamamie experiments.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: If exhaustion was a race, I would be winning it. :D Also, did you know that you can get blisters on your face from a sunburn? The more you know~
> 
> Also! Please read my ending notes for a comment on the chapter once you've read it, as commenting here would spoil too much! :D
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: “If you could turn gravity off at will for just yourself, something you touched, or a select area, what shenanigans would you get up to?”
> 
> Strider answer: Honestly? Y'know those embarrassing situations where you want to yeet yourself into the sun? That would probably be me, literally yeeting myself away from the awkward. Also, grocery trips. I am an all in one or not at all kind of girl, so gravity play would make that totes easy.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "Imagine that you've been thrown into the last Anime you watched as one of the main/support characters. Which character are you, and how fucked do you think you are? Or, contrary, how boned is the plotline if you start playing with it?"

Hunk trotted for the kitchen, leaning over the counter to drop his dishes into his special slot for him to clean later. They had to keep everything separated for contamination issues, of course, so one of the slots was for him to drop his dishes into when he couldn’t immediately clean them. Or, when he didn’t want to immediately clean them.

It also gave Lance a chance to sneak in and do them, as he sometimes did to surprise Hunk.

Out of the corner of his eye, spotted Keith approaching from behind. Knowing that Keith was ready to head out and help Shiro, Hunk merely tilted his head to let him know that he was seen and Hunk would be ready to go shortly. Hunk had to do one thing first, though.

Given how much Shiro generally detested what he was, Hunk knew that showing up with his teeth a gory mess would absolutely not be the best course of action. So, the simple solution to that was to make his way briefly into the kitchen through the door, and shoving his head under the sink so he could begin swishing out his mouth and scrubbing his teeth with his fingers.

On the plus side, it also got the nasty lingering taste of zombie goo out of his mouth. Hunk really did not enjoy his food- and though he was dreading the failed attempts that would come from Pidge and Romelle doing science to see what he could and could not eat, there was a small part of him that was curious if they would find something he could consume.

Hunk had tried various things, undoubtedly. There was no doubt at all that he had tried a whole slew of things- no one wanted to eat zombies as a last resort, but he had other priorities than finding things he could eat other than the dead.

He hadn’t tried everything- but Pidge had records of what they had tried. She and Romelle could figure it out, and he could help as best he could.

Keith followed Hunk to the kitchen, and crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the walls. Keith understood quite well that the other had seen him, but wasn't ready to go yet. He sighed through his nose, and his violet eyes shifted back to the table, watching Pidge talk animatedly with her hands and Romelle's expression change into excited nodding while he tried heavily to resist the urge to tap his foot.

Patience was not his strong suit. He tried, and he gave Hunk his time and space, but it was eating away at him, chipping more and more until the restlessness was starting to manifest in his pinched brows and deep frown.

He heard the water, and he took a guess on what it was Hunk had wanted to do. He forced another deep breath, trying to find his patience for that. He had seen Hunk's smile after eating zombie flesh once before, and he could imagine that dark color of his teeth would have only scared Shiro shitless.

Hunk gargled again, and checked his teeth in the sink’s reflection. Not perfect- a little black remained at his gum line, but over all his mouth was a lot cleaner. He took a moment to take a drink from the sink, and then he vigorously scrubbed his hands with some of their pilfered dish soap. The antibacterial dish soap was a godsend when it came to cleaning anything, honestly, since they didn’t have hot water.

Hands clean and dry, Hunk padded back out with Keith and motioned for the shorter man to lead the way. Hunk had his medical kit on his hip, so he was good to go for most things. If it was anything more serious, they could heckle Shiro into going down to the medical bay for more proper medical care.

It was hard not to sigh in relief when Hunk emerged and signaled to him that he was finally ready to go. Keith wasted no time, dropping his hands and hurrying out of the cafeteria and towards the new cell block assigned to the rescued prisoners.

Hunk glanced back briefly at the girls, and a smile graced his lips as his chest tingled warmly. It made him happy to see them talking enthusiastically about something- even if it likely boded ill for him.

He let himself slip from the cafeteria. “So, what can you tell me about how Shiro is doing?” Hunk asked once they were alone, the din of chatter falling on the back burner in the general over-stimulus of noise that invaded his ears almost constantly. “In detail, so I can know what I’m going into. I know his hands were hurt- are they not healing right? Is he developing something worse? Details are good to know so I can know where to focus first when we get there.”

He had a feeling Shiro was going to be a very limited time sort of patient- and he wouldn’t appreciate Hunk lingering for longer than he absolutely had to at the barest minimum. Hunk would likely have to do the best treatment he could, and then instruct Keith in future care. And, god forbid anything else take a turn for the worst, Shiro would likely make a full recovery.

Hunk had taught them all well. None of them were doctors in the slightest, but wound care was a basic necessity. As were stitches- though some were better than others.

Hunk's question was a hard one to answer. Keith's shoulders tensed, and there was something raw in his voice. "Honestly? I'm not sure. He... He doesn't really talk to me. But I've noticed his hands are swollen and he's having trouble using them, and he sounds like he might be getting sick…

Hunk nodded, and turned his thoughts inward as they headed upwards towards the rooms in their building, taking the flights of stairs carefully. If his hands were swollen, he likely had some kind of infection inflaming the tissue, which was expected since he hadn’t come to the medical bay at all since he had been given his initial treatment.

Honestly, it wasn’t that unexpected. Hunk was something Shiro feared, and Shiro was still likely conditioned to stay in his room. If Hunk hadn’t gotten caught up in the plague that had seemed to sweep through, he’d have likely started working to get Shiro out more. Or at least, started trying to get Shiro out and about through Keith, or Pidge. Or even Matt- those three were the ones who had the closest relationship with Shiro, and the best chance of successfully getting him out and about.

Keith wasn’t that good at… Well, people. Hunk knew that. Neither was Pidge, honestly. So, if any of the three had the chance of coaxing him out, it was likely Matt. Hunk would need to talk to Matt, and start getting him to help, if Shiro wouldn’t accept Hunk coaxing him out.

Keith climbed up the stairs, but didn't slow his pace until he was half way across the block. As if it was some kind of mockery, Shiro had picked the cell furthest away from the others, in a corner that was mostly blocked from the light.

The door was slightly ajar.

Keith glanced worriedly back at Hunk, and signaled with his hand for the other to wait just out of sight, before slowly making his way to the open cell. Each step was measured so that Shiro would be aware of every footstep against the metal walkway.

Hunk waited, as requested. His frozen heart ached for Keith. He could see the line of tension in his friend, and he could smell… Well, something coming from Shiro’s cell. Something not… clean. It made his nose burn.

"Shiro?" Keith called, voice soft as he paused by the door. One of his hands curled around a cell bar as he peered inside. "Hey."

There was no answer.

Keith pursed his lips, brows furrowing. "... I brought someone whose going to look at your hands. Is that okay?"

Still no answer. Keith's heart was breaking again. Frustration and agony had his fingers curling tighter around the cell bar until his knuckles were white. Tears burned bright in his eyes, but refused to fall.

The Shiro he knew was not the man before him, huddled in the cold corner of one of his cells and refusing to speak. He had been a leader that Keith and the others had Atlas had looked up to. He had saved so many people, and inspired hope. He was the light that kept Keith moving forward. He was the guiding star that Keith strove to always move towards.

Zarkon had taken the light and snuffed it.

"He's... He's really good," Keith said. "He knows what he's doing. He's going to make it better."

Still nothing. The only reason Keith knew Shiro acknowledged him was that he shifted against the cold cement wall.

Listening to Keith talk to Shiro with no response broke his heart further. Shiro had been talking when they’d walked home- whatever it was about Altea’s living quarters, be it the bars or the fact that he was enclosed again, he had closed off and shut down once more.

A dry part of Hunk pondered that maybe, just maybe, dealing with a friendly zombie would spark some life back into Shiro. For good or ill- any reaction would be better than no reaction at all.

Keith bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. He  _ hated _ this. He felt like he was losing Shiro all over again. He remembered those dark times on the road after the fall of Atlas before Lance and Hunk found him. He remembered how lost and how painful it had been.

He wouldn't give up on him. Shiro was still in there.

Dropping his hand from the bar, Keith let out a slow breath. Turning his gaze to Hunk, he nodded in a silent signal that he could approach.

Keith’s permission to enter didn’t really mean he had Shiro’s permission- but based on what Hunk could already smell, Hunk wasn’t necessarily going to take no for an answer.

Hunk tilted his head to Keith, and stepped around the corner. He shifted his medical pack around to his front so he could have easier access to it.

A warm smile slid on his face, even if he felt more pain for Keith, and an ache of sympathy for Shiro’s wounds. Inside the room smelled strongly of infection than outside of the bars did- and Hunk could smell it clearly, even through the layers of bandaging. “Hi there, Shiro.” He greeted lightly. “I don’t think we’ve really had much of a chance to talk since we first met. You’re looking a lot better- it looks like Keith did end up giving you that hair cut, hm?”

Hunk padded into the room, careful to keep his steps evenly paced and his motions as human as possible. Thankfully, plenty of water and time in the showers had hydrated his body, so there was no inhuman creaking, and no stiffness. His motions were fluid, his steps even- other than the chill of his skin, Hunk looked deceptively human.

Well- and the scar across his throat where Shiro had torn it out prior. It wasn’t thick or big, but it had scarred, a pale line atop many other pale lines, thickening the flesh and making it tougher and tougher. He wondered when, some day, someone would go to slice him and the scar tissue would be too thick to split.

Hunk pulled up the stool that came standard with each of the cells, and moved it across from where Shiro was huddled in the corner. It wasn’t prison standard, but comfort standard. A bed and a chair was a basic minimum, along with a shelf and a fold out table. Other things, comforts, required personally traveling outside the walls with the group to get them- or trading for someone to find one.

Hunk's bulk blocked the tiny amount of light that could reach into the cell, blanketing it with darkness. Shiro's eyes widened instantly as he recognized it, his breath catching in the same instant his heart skipped a beat.

Keith could see the terror, and felt guilt rake down his spine with claws so deep, it felt like it had severed his intestines. He knew bringing Hunk here would be a bad idea, but he also wasn't sure what else he could do. Hunk was their medic, he was good at what he did, and Shiro needed help.

Shiro's stomach bottomed out in response to that looming mass entering his space, fear mixing in with the terribly bitter scent of infection. His body drew up like a bowstring, pressing into the wall at the same time that the far away look in his anchor gray eyes sharpened, like a sudden switch had been flipped on.

"Don't--" He croaked, forgetting himself. Terror made his mind go liquid, and suddenly he was struggling to stay afloat.

Hunk was so massive, it was like being in his tiny cell again. His hands throbbed as he clenched them, protesting the movement. He had no weapons in here. He was trapped and helpless with a zombie, just like the first time he had been thrown into the ring. Sensations and memories roiled in his mind, colliding with the present.

Pleading didn't work. Pleading never worked. Only  _ fighting _ did.

His breath was loud in the space, shallow and quivering. His eyes flickered around the room for escape before the scraping sound of wood against the cement floor had him hyperfocusing on Hunk. And it was like watching a wild animal as Shiro gripped the wall and tried to scramble to his feet, only to end up drawing his hands back in agony and collapsing again.

"Shiro!" Keith gasped. "Hang on, wait, it's okay," he tried, stepping into the cell too, approaching with every intention of trying to stop the older male from hurting himself even more in panic. "He's not going to hurt--"

Keith's voice choked as Shiro lifted those eyes to him. They were suddenly as furious as daggers, cutting into him with so much force it stole Keith's breath. The animosity was so shocking that he froze beside the stool. Shiro's stare was hot and intense. He was glaring as if Keith had betrayed him.

Shiro had never looked at him like that before.

"Shiro..." He murmured, voice sounding as broken as he felt.

Hunk’s heart ached for both of them, it did. But he could not fix this in one night- and not without causing strain first. He opened his medical pouch, as he sat across down across from where Shiro huddled against the cement wall. He sat on the floor, much like Shiro did, but his medical supplies were seated upon the stool to keep them clean.

Hunk glanced across and over to Shiro. He held his hands out, dark palms up. “Shiro- can I look at your hands?” He said, instead of calling him out on his panic and failed attempt at fleeing.

It was a few more tense seconds, before Shiro realized Hunk wasn't about to crowd his space any further. Still, he turned slightly into the bed frame he was tucked beside, as if he could use it as a barrier should Hunk decide to change his mind, hands tucked into himself like a stubborn child.

Keith looked down at Hunk, before trying again. "Shiro, he's our medic. He can help you."

"No, Keith." Shiro growled, tone low and full of grit. His eyes were shining out of the darkened space with hatred. Just like how Hunk had found him in that cell. "What  _ it _ is, is  **_dead_ ** ."

Hunk flinched at Shiro’s gritted snarl. They burned through him like ice. Anger tingled in him briefly, sparking in his eyes, but it ultimately died out. After all- at his core, Hunk believed those words too. His shoulders slumped, and he glanced away from Shiro with a deep and world weary sigh. “What’s dead should stay dead, right?” He murmured, flicking his eyes back up to Shiro.

In the low lighting, there was an almost inhuman glow in his irises, as his eyes reflected what light there was back out.

On one hand, Keith was secretly glad Shiro was suddenly talking to him again. On the other, he hated that it come to this; being triggered by his fear and anger. Frustrated, Keith ran a hand through his mullet. He knew it would have been bad bringing Hunk here, and he frowned guiltily towards his friend.

Shiro would probably have said more, judging by the way he stared at those open palms with a curled nose in disgust. However, Shiro knew his place. He was without weapons. He was the one trapped here. And he had learned a long time ago that running you're mouth was the fastest way to being thrown into the ring; or worse.

Silence, he had learned very quickly, was one of his greatest survival tactics.

Keith swallowed. "Hunk, what if you walk me through it?" He whispered to the other. It was another terrible idea to add on to his list of bad ideas, but honestly, Keith didn't know what else to do.

It wasn’t Shiro’s fault, Hunk knew. Shiro had been twisted and warped by what he experienced, the horrors he’d seen and experienced. Hunk couldn’t imagine it, being forced into a pit and being made to fight zombies who were once the people he’d grown to know in the cages next to him. It would warp anyone- but humans, especially, were capable of weathering extreme horrors and coming out the other side for better rather than worse.

However… turning on those closest to you once you came out, Hunk mused, was not the way to do it. And Shiro, Hunk realized with something like a bolt of clarity, was continuing much the way he had in the fighting ring. He was remaining solitary, shut down and closed off, receiving rations and not responding to prompts from his ‘jailers’. Shiro wasn’t even trying- it was like he was letting Zarkon win.

It was like an epiphany of sorts, something that sent the long dead neurons in his brain firing away. Hunk straightened up, and he glanced up at Keith with a contemplative look, before shooting a look at Shiro. He didn’t answer Keith immediately, because Hunk had something he needed to say first.

“ Keith loves you, you know that?” He murmured to Shiro, and dropped his hands patiently into his lap. He didn’t move. “When Lance and I found him, he was a mess in more ways than just physical- and he was a mess there too. He didn’t trust anyone, he was volatile, angry at everything- he fought with Lance more times than I can count. He’d seen things, had to do things- the world is a harsh place, and time an even crueler mistress.” He tilted his head. “But we’d already found Matt and Pidge by then. I’m pretty sure they were the only reason he stayed. He found a piece of his home- and then he made here a home.”

Keith knew, when Hunk looked to him like that, the other was about to do something, and he felt his insides twist up, brows furrowing deep.

Of course Shiro knew he loved him. Keith made sure to tell him that the very second he had Shiro safe. What he hadn't told him was everything Hunk was saying now. He hadn't seen the point of letting Shiro hear about how much he had been hurt when he lost the other. Shiro already had enough to deal with. And his face was twisting as Hunk continued, into a deep and disquieted grimace.

"Hunk," he started, upset. It was supposed to be a warning, maybe. He wasn’t sure. "He doesn't need to know all that."

But the undead man wasn't finished, and Keith wasn't sure what the other was trying to get at. Not until those bold words left Hunk's mouth, and Keith found himself parting his lips in shock.

Taking a deeper breath, he frowned, and then crossed his arms. Having his vulnerabilities and failures outed like that was never an easy thing for him to accept. As was the word  _ love _ …

He did love Hunk. The same he loved Lance and Matt and Shiro. And Pidge, though his feelings for her ran in a different direction. Still, they were all family in some way. He just wasn't very good at expressing it. And hearing it from others wasn't easy for him either.

Especially when it felt sudden, and like Hunk was trying to make a point. And Keith was still unsure what that point was, and growing frustrated, until the word betray slipped from Hunk's lips.

Hunk leaned back a little, clearly not listening to the warning in Keith’s voice, and smoothed his palms down on his thighs. The red of his turtleneck was a warm color against his dark skin. “I know you don’t like me, Shiro. I’m dead- you know it, I know it, everyone knows it, but we mostly ignore it because of what skills I can still offer to the community. I am a good doctor, I’m a good guard, and I will throw myself at the feet of a horde before I willingly let it take anyone that I love.”

He let that sink in- that yes, a zombie was still capable of love. “And like Keith loves you, I love Keith too. He’s my bro- my annoying brother who has butterfingers and has lost privileges when it comes to lowering me out windows.” Deep honey-amber watched the huddling man, and Hunk observed him with almost an eerie intensity. “He doesn’t deserve your anger. He did not betray you by bringing me here. I was going to come here on my own soon enough anyway to check on you. Keith cares for you, Shiro- he let me know I needed to come sooner.”

And it was good that he had, based on the infection and how sensitive Shiro’s hands seemed to be.

"Hunk," Keith warned him a second time. This time it was harder and a little more firm. His violet gaze settling on Hunk with a very clear, ‘ _ dude, what are you doing?’ _ in his arched brows.

Keith had absolutely betrayed Shiro. He had brought Hunk into his space knowing exactly how he felt about the other. Hell, in a way, he had betrayed Hunk too by bringing him here to face down the man who wanted him dead simply for his selfish desire to make sure Shiro get the best care possible. He could have asked anyone else. They may not be Hunk, but everyone at least had enough basic first aid to do something for Shiro. More than him, anyway.

And now Hunk was delving into subjects that were far too sensitive. Keith blinked, shocked.

Hunk was usually never this blunt. He didn't blame the other, of course. The guy had been through a lot even before burying a kid, then being asked to deal with a difficult Shiro? Yeah, he got it. Still, it was a side of Hunk that was so rare, Keith was still shocked by it.

“ I’m going to come out and be blunt with you, Shiro. You don’t seem the type to enjoy me beating around the bush with you, when you’d rather lop off my head and be done with it.” He crossed his arms and exhaled softly. He glanced briefly at Keith, but didn’t reply. He wasn’t done yet- and foot in mouth be damned, he was going to speak.

“ You’re letting Zarkon  _ win _ . Now,” Hunk paused, before either of them could interrupt him, “before either of you balk, let me explain. I’m pretty certain you’ve got a nasty case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD can be managed and handled, and, in some cases, treated with some therapy. It takes  _ work _ from the person with PTSD, and a little help with people around them. What you’re doing, sitting here in the dark, not going out and interacting with anyone, is not progress going forward. You’re sitting, waiting, treating everyone like your jailers, when this door behind us is open, and you can walk out any time and have access to food, water, and showers. You’re treating Altea like your cage, and you’re not making any conscious effort to improve anything.”

Hunk dipped his head down, and did his best to meet the ever angry silver eyes. “Shiro, you’re letting him win. He’s dictating your actions, even now, and he’s dead. You’re sitting here, refusing treatment because you hate me and you’re absolutely petrified of me, and I get it. I’m a monster, I know it- but I’m a monster who is trying his best to make sure you don’t die because you’re letting the  _ real  _ monster dictate your life from beyond the grave.”

What Shiro was doing now was comparatively easy. Sitting in silence all day, waiting for meals and water and not interacting- sitting stagnant, refusing help when it was offered. Trying to actively improve was harder. Getting up, moving, talking, taking strides to fight the monster that had sunk invisible chains into him so deep that they scraped at his soul- that was hard work.

Someone needed to put the metaphorical boot in Shiro’s ass to get him to take that first step- and Hunk was absolutely willing to be that person, even if it ruined any chance of Shiro warming up to him. Or, he thought, if it made Keith mad at him for speaking to sharply to Shiro. Keith was all kinds of protective of Shiro, and, Hunk thought, this might be something that Shiro needed to hear rather than to be coddled more.

With his part said, Hunk dropped his arms. He opened his palms again, and left them face up. He watched Shiro, and dropped his tone to something softer, more encouraging and soothing. Even if Shiro had spited him, had rankled something deep inside of Hunk and dug gouges in the already tired and world weary soul, Shiro was still a person and he deserved kindness.

“ Do you want to make a choice for yourself today?” He asked, tone unfailingly soft and coaxing. “A choice to not let him win? If you absolutely can’t let me help you, Shiro, then that’s okay. I’ll try my best to teach Keith what to do- but if it gets worse, or looks worse than it smells under the bandages, then I will have to step in if you want to keep your hands.”

Keith’s stupefied shock- because holy hell, Hunk had gone there- very quickly gave way to anger. " _ Hunk _ !" He snapped, a third time, and this time it was like the aggressive bark or a dog protecting their master; his arms uncrossing and hands curling into fists by his side. "What the _ fuck! _ ?"

Hunk flinched at the snap, the aggressive bark lifting his metaphorical hackles almost instinctively without him meaning for it to.

This was not what Keith asked Hunk to do. Sure, maybe, Hunk was right, but... Who knew how  _ long _ Shiro had been in there, conditioned to act like this? It took more than a couple of weeks to undo damage like that. Shiro had to be ready to take those steps that Hunk was pushing for, and Keith, as impatient as he was, was willing to be patient for Shiro; to guide him and be his rock like Shiro had done for him until he was willing to start healing on his own. Because  _ that _ was what he needed, not... Not whatever the fuck Hunk was doing.

Was this because Hunk was more tired then he let on? Did burying that kid hit harder than Hunk wanted to admit? It seemed almost cruel, and Keith was torn between punching his friend in the face for being a total  _ asshole _ , and dragging him out of the cell and sending him off to a quiet place to meditate since zombies didn't sleep.

Keith's brows were tight on his forehead. He would have grasped the other by his arm and yanked him back out, but it's not like there could be a private conversation with a big open cell. So he took to glaring instead, half stepping around the stool to block Shiro from view. "I asked for your help, not for you to criticize him!"

Hunk closed his eyes, and rounded out his shoulders submissively as soon as he realized he’d gotten even the smallest bit instinctively defensive when Keith shoved between him and Shiro. There was plenty of space for Keith to stand- and plenty of space for Keith to yell at him.

However, Hunk scooted back pointedly, and tipped his head down with an incredibly heavy sigh. His fingers slid up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to distract himself from the surge of ire he felt burn through his chest like a branding iron.

It wasn’t right- Hunk wasn’t  _ right _ . Well- a little. Hunk also knew that everyone recovered at their own paces, and some took longer than others. He wasn’t a therapist though- and coaxing someone who hated his guts into letting him fix him wasn’t something he was clearly capable of after the many grueling days he’d had.

Everyone had their limits- even the dead.

His was just at the edge, a flare of temper that had his damp locks bristling and expanding, rippling up like the back of a dog about to lunge in defense as the muscles of his neck knotted and coiled. Hunk didn’t move, however- his body could react however much it liked, but he wasn’t going to aggressively move towards Keith, or Shiro, no matter how touchy he felt he was. Hence, why his shoulders remained in the submissive slump, even if his hair was bristling up in a warning of his own.

Hunk knew that Keith knew the signs of agitation in him. Perhaps not so well as Lance- Lance often knew before Hunk did.

“ I’m sorry.” He exhaled sharply. “Perhaps I wasn’t the right one to ask to help him, Keith. But, right one or not, I spoke out of turn.” However honest Hunk had been, however well intended his words, he had upset Keith, and though he couldn’t see Shiro, Shiro smelled like a mix of… something unpleasant. Hunk hadn’t meant to say anything hurtful- but apparently, his ire had come to fruition in the form of a waspishly wordy bite that hadn’t been intended.

Hunk was rarely, very rarely, ever intentionally malicious. Sometimes bluntly honest in his opinions, but he rarely spoke words with the actual intent to cause harm with them.

“ I apologize. It can’t take back what I said or fix the damage of what I said- but maybe what I said will give you both something to think on. For better or worse, I guess...” Which was likely the entirely wrong thing to say, but the tired side of Hunk frankly was  _ done _ . He wanted to go find a dark corner and lay down like the corpse he was, and just zone out. But the work never ended- he hadn’t been lying when he said he had to go work on the lights.

That being said, it would be better if Hunk wasn’t there, and Hunk knew it.

Keith didn't see Hunk's anger. What he saw was the bare bones of a man stretched to his limit and forced to keep going beyond it. And the anger in himself, as quickly as it had come, became extinguished. His fire went out and left a billowing smoke as the tension in his own body loosened.

"It's... It's okay." Keith sighed, feeling guilt rising inside of his gut; that same guilt that he had expressed back in the graveyard. When he had known Hunk was pushed to his limit, and he should have just left it alone. "I shouldn't have asked you," Keith replied.

“ No- you were right to ask. It’s not your fault that I wasn’t okay today, Keith.” Hunk’s response was weary and soft. No, it wasn’t Keith’s fault- it wasn’t anyone’s fault that Hunk was the best suited to burial duty, or that he could handle quarantine on his own. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they hadn’t been prepared for sickness to strike- or to lose good people. Innocent people. A sweet, sweet child.

Keith wasn't very good with this. Sitting there slumped, Hunk looked as if he needed comfort. Hunk desperately looked like he needed comfort- or something, something more than Keith was currently doing. Keith chewed a bit on his lip, debating, guilt cutting even deeper into his core. Slowly, he raised his hand-

While Keith might not have noticed it, Shiro was coiled tightly like a snake and watching every single one of Hunk's moves.

He knew zombies. He had fought them in the arena. He learned their weaknesses, their strengths, their  _ tells. _ It was the only way he could survive. Just as learning how to be silent, and to not upset his captors, had been a way of survival for him.

Hunk looked human. He tried to act human. He even tried to speak to him as if he was a human. But he was still dead. He was still one of  _ them. _

Shiro caught the slight bristling of hair, and saw muscles tighten. He felt his stomach drop and his blood go ice cold. And suddenly, throbbing hands didn't matter so much as getting to his feet. Swollen and bloody hands covered in deep gashes grabbed at the wall desperately, and he pulled, muffling a sound of agony as he picked himself off the ground on unsteady feet.

"Keith!" He gasped, and pulled Keith's attention immediately.

Violet eyes snapped back to find Shiro's, his hand still held outstretched. Seeing Shiro standing on his own seemed to surprise Keith. Enough to make him give pause at any rate. " _ Shiro _ ?" It was probably wrong of him to feel a spark of happiness, but there it was, aflutter in his chest like a caged bird.

Shiro moved quickly; much quicker than Keith anticipated. He felt a thick tug on the back of his jacket, and he went reeling back. Shiro had yanked him back so hard he almost stumbled, and Keith had been so shocked that he hadn't been able to anything more than gasp.

Shiro put Keith beside him. His hands were oozing now from being forced to move. They had to hurt, and yet...

" _ Don't _ touch him." It was a warning spoken in anger, but that anger was just a mask for fear. Shiro was still staring right at Hunk, but his hands were drawn up in front of him, prepared to defend him and Keith. His chest was heaving, breath shaky and loud in the space around them.

The warning, and the way Shiro was standing, made Keith's brows furrow.

Hunk hadn’t moved, not once, when Shiro shifted to protect Keith- and it was definitely for the best. Hunk could see, through the droop of his bristling bangs, that Shiro was hanging on by a thread of control. He could smell fresh blood, and while it stirred the beast that lay deep inside of Hunk, the smell of infection deterred him.

Zombies liked healthy flesh, Hunk had learned. A starving one wouldn’t turn down meat if it was sick or healthy, but one that was well fed, well, it wouldn’t be tempted by ‘lesser’ prey. Hunk was many things, and when he had just eaten, he generally fell into the well fed category.

He got up then, his movements slow and carefully calculated so he didn’t startle Keith- who did not trust him like Lance did- or Shiro, who was undoubtedly on edge after everything. When Hunk loomed over them both, he lifted his gaze, and met Keith’s eyes.

Shiro reacted the moment that Hunk stood, his lean muscles tensing and chest lurching to lunge. Keith thought the only thing keeping Shiro still was the sudden hand he planted on the other like Shiro used to have to do for him to keep him grounded. How ironic it was that their roles were now reversed.

Hunk’s gaze was deep and bone wearily tired, and speckled with flecks of irritation at himself, and, irrationally, at Shiro and Keith. He was upset at himself, and upset he couldn’t help- and generally a mess and getting worse. Hunk needed time to center himself again. “I can’t help someone who doesn’t want my help, or cannot accept it, without making it worse. And I think, much of what I do right now would make most things worse.” Hunk was going to the responsible thing, and bow out before it could escalate.

But, Keith did need to know how to tend to Shiro.

Hunk shifted, and unclipped his second medical pouch. He held it out to Keith, the other still sitting on the stool and waiting to be used. “Drain out as much of the infection as you can. When no more pus comes out, pack it with the antibacterial salve, and put a gauze pad over it before wrapping it with the bandages in this pouch. If there is any dead tissue- black tissue, you’ll know what it looks like- you’ll want to call Pidge and have her remove it with a scalpel. Healthy and healing tissue is pink and new looking.”

Keith realized abruptly as Shiro tensed again that Hunk was right. He didn't want the other to leave, but he also couldn't stay here, or else that growing panic and distrust in Shiro was only going to get worse. It could grow into violence, and neither Shiro or Hunk needed that.

"Yeah," Keith murmured. He eyed the pack Hunk was giving to him, before gesturing with his head to the stool. He didn't think Shiro would react well if he stepped away from his side. "Thank you, Hunk."

There was more he wanted to say. There was more he wished he could do. He wasn't a medic, and even if Hunk said he would know what it looked like, he felt anxious knowing cleaning Shiro's hands would be put on  _ him _ . It was why he had sought out Hunk in the first place. How would he know the infection wasn't fully removed without Hunk's ability to smell it? How would he know how to bandage it correctly or if there was anything worse going on?

Damn it, this was a bad situation to be in. One made worse because it was his own fault.

Keith would just have to do what he could and hope he was doing it right. He was no stranger to figuring shit out as he went. This was just one of those times.

Hunk lowered the pack down to the stool, and settled it there with the other one. His motions were slow, smooth, and deliberate- carefully calculated so as not to spook the man barely restrained by a Keith’s hand into doing something more drastic.

He took a deeper inhale, the motion subtle as he glanced to Shiro’s hands only briefly. “You’ll do okay, Keith.” Keith’s anxiety was overwhelming with Shiro’s infection stench- and it was briefly nauseating in intensity. Hunk looked queasy briefly. Keith’s scent was always too much sometimes, and compiled with the sickly stink of infection and unwashed human, it was a very overwhelming stink. “If you can, maybe get Shiro into the showers too. Cleanliness will help with some of his infection issues.”

Hunk didn’t turn his back on Shiro, but he did back his way out of the cell. Like Shiro didn’t trust him, Hunk didn’t trust Shiro. And… As much as he trusted Keith, he didn’t trust Keith to be willing to do what was necessary to restrain Shiro if Shiro tried to hurt Hunk. Shiro meant the world to Keith- and if Hunk accidentally hurt Shiro in self defense, Hunk knew that Keith would be angry at him, not at Shiro.

Best not to tempt the lion, so to speak.

Once he was out, Hunk managed a weak smile for Keith, before turning on his heel and heading off down the hall.

His expression faded into something like a tired thunderstorm. His eyes lit up like an irate storm, swirling with clouds of exhaustion. His body may never physically tire, but his soul and mind grew weary- and he’d had a long week. He mourned for the people he lost- for the sweet boy who hadn’t even gotten more than a tiny taste of freedom from his captors and rapists before he’d been taken from the world.

Ollie had a whole future ahead of him once, as had the other adults. Hunk had a future once too- but now he didn’t. He was dead, like the kids, like the adults- but he also wasn’t dead. One foot in the grave and one foot out of the grave- and too cowardly to finish the commitment properly. One would think he’d have been desensitized to it after so many losses and horrors, after his own death and the fact he’d done unspeakable things when he’d been feral. The things he’d done and had to do… It never got easier. It never helped handling death get easier, oddly enough.

It never got easier knowing that his skill at digging graves was getting better _ either. _

Hunk made his way down the hall towards the stairs, making his way down them noisily. He headed down the hall from there, into what was probably once a ‘staff only’ area. It held the hall way that lead to the roof access hatch. However, he found his boots slowing by the time he reached the hallway that turned to the ladder that lead up.

He was  _ tired _ . The lights flickering was bothersome at best, but it would hold for a couple hours while he centered himself, he thought. Hunk needed some time to himself- to read or to meditate or something where he wasn’t obligated to do anything more.

His gaze was listless on the hall for just a moment, before he spun away from responsibilities and back down the hall, his pace slowed as he headed back for the stairs. Hunk had all intentions of retreating to his room and hiding there with his books, and perhaps meditating. He pondered going out to the garden, but the smell of the flowers wasn’t what he wanted. Not that he wanted to be alone either- but Lance was busy with Allura, and Hunk wasn’t of the mind to go help plan things.

Hunk sucked in a breath, ducked his head, and trudged onward with the goal to get to the stairs and to his room as quickly as possible.

Hunk wasn’t entirely sure how he got from the bottom floor and back up to his room without being accosted for something by someone, but he wasn’t bothered at all. He made it to his room, and the darkness of his cell was welcoming. Hunk kept sheets draped over his room, so the lights outside didn’t bother him so much inside.

He ducked into the relative gloom the prison cell turned homely room. He clicked on the tiny side lamp that he used to provide more than enough light for his needs, and kicked off his boots in their designated spot. His bare feet carried him to his bookshelf where he pondered it for a moment. He needed to meditate- and to relax. Reading was also a good way for him to center himself, and Hunk really found reading relaxing.

Mind made up, he reached up to grab one of the many books he’d been meaning to read for months now.

From there, Hunk made his way to his bed. It wasn’t much of a bed- Hunk had allotted himself what amounted to a cot, since he didn’t actually need to sleep like everyone else did. Hunk didn’t even have blankets, actually. He did however, have a couple pillows, because he refused to hold his head up when he had to read.

With all the grace of a bear somersaulting down a steep hill, Hunk rolled onto his cot and settled on his back, his shoulders against his collection of pillows as he got himself as comfortable as he was able to. His ankles crossed, and he exhaled a deep sigh.

His room was quiet, but Altea was lively- and he settled the background noise into a sort of music of life as he oh so gently cracked open the paperback novel, and settled his eyes onto the words to attempt to read, letting the lines and lines of story unfold like a movie in his mind, and the story of adventure and dragons and loves galore rejuvenate his weary soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: This was a rough chapter, but it does come with a good moral. There was a conflict between Shiro and Hunk, and Keith is caught in the middle of it. When you guys read through it, I hope that you kept in mind that neither party here is actually okay.
> 
> For all that he's putting on a good farce, Hunk is anything but okay, and Keith knew it when he asked for his help. Hunk still went to try anyways, because that is how Hunk works, giving more of himself even when he has almost nothing left to give. It lead to things being said that shouldn't have been, and things escalated in ways that ended up badly.
> 
> Sadly, this kinda stuff can happen in real life too.
> 
> The moral here that I hope you all take away is that it's important for all of you to remember to take time to yourselves, to remember that you can't help others if you have no more if yourself to give. When you're scraped raw, and there's nothing left of you to give up, sometimes you might say something you don't intend to come off as harsh, and it can hurt and cause problems in a relationship. Even if it's hard to do, sometimes it's best if you step back, recover, and then tackle the problem with a fresh set of eyes, and apologize earnestly if things got out of hand.
> 
> That being said, I hope you're all having a wonderful day, and that for those of you who lit off fireworks, that you had a wonderful holiday.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: Heya all. Hope ya'll are enjoying WMUH. Bit of a time jump here~ I know ya'll wanted to hug Hunk after last chapter, and the good boy definitely appreciates the sentiment~
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "Imagine that you've been thrown into the last Anime you watched as one of the main/support characters. Which character are you, and how fucked do you think you are? Or, contrary, how boned is the plotline if you start playing with it?"
> 
> Strider Answer: Fuck me with an unlubed cactus. My nerd ass binged My Hero Academia with mom again, so... Honestly, I don't know. My bestie says I fit either All Might or Deku, but I'd probably make a better Aizawa. None for no body, bitches. As for fucked, well, probably hella. None for nobody ain't gonna help the fact I'm not a ninja. But I absolutely would muck with the timeline. A whole lot could have been fixed if Tomura was given a proper home and not emotionally manipulated.
> 
> I would be Aizawa. But I'd adopt all of the children. All of them. Even Bakubro. 
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: What is your least favorite kind of pudding, and why do you hate it so much?

It took time to travel anywhere, especially since they didn’t have cars that functioned anymore. Cars really did make things much faster for travel- cutting down days upon days of walking down into a couple hours. Unfortunately, gas was a finite resource, something they didn’t have enough of anymore thanks to the oil plants no longer functioning.

Cars also made noise, and noise attracted the undead. Cars did make amazing distractions for the dimwitted zombies, however. A horde would chase a car rolling down a hill, and let survivors slip away unnoticed.

Still, a lack of cars meant that everything they did was on foot- including traveling from city to city. Which meant that a four day walk was a four day walk, and four days of dodging zombies before they even reached the outskirts. Thankfully, for almost everyone left alive, they had the stamina for walking and for dodging the zombie hordes.

Lance and Allura had spent time with several others figuring out over their many maps which cities and suburbs were most likely to still have supplies in them. With a good portion of their nation’s population dead and still walking, there were supplies to be found everywhere- but they had to weigh the risks. Big cities brought big goods- Hunk and Lance knew that intimately- but also brought bigger risks. Bigger cities had bigger populations of the undead, while smaller suburbs and rural towns had less risk of encountering a mega horde.

Ultimately, the planning group decided that the risk of a larger city was worth it- but the larger city that had been mostly untouched was a couple days trek out, hence, walking.

Walking in itself wasn’t so bad for Hunk. He was doing better after some time to rest, though his mind was still tired. The fresh air was doing wonders for him though, taking time away from everything, even if he knew he’d have loads to work on when he got back.

Lance had thought that it would- which was why he’d suggested for the three _amigos_ to go out in search of medication, and anything else that tickled their fancy whilst out and about.

Traveling with Lance and Keith was, in itself, much like it had been many times before- though there was the added awkwardness lingering between Hunk and Keith since the failed attempt to help Shiro, where Hunk had done more harm than good in the long run.

It was a nice return to something somewhat normal- even if their normal was not necessarily safe. It was safer for their particular group since Hunk was dead and could keep them safe.

As soon as Lance had asked him to go out with Hunk and himself, Keith had jumped at the chance to go, and immediately felt _awful_ for it.

He shouldn't want to leave Shiro's side. The other wasn't doing well at all. He didn't _want_ to blame Hunk, but he couldn't help but give the other _looks_ since the failed attempt. The only reactions he got out of Shiro now was when he was frightened, and nothing else. The older man didn't even look as if he felt pain when Keith did end up asking Pidge to cut away dead tissue, or when he pulled the puss and blood crusted bandages off healing skin to change them every morning.

Keith wanted to be there for the man he loved like his brother, but that man... That man was in the past. Every day he watched and stayed by Shiro, and every day that hope inside of him started to die. The heartbreak was digging deeper and deeper into his chest and cracking him open. His frustration was getting harder and harder to contain.

What made it worse, was that he blamed himself for a multitude of reasons. One being because he stopped looking for Shiro. Another because he hadn't gotten to Zarkon in time. And even another yet because he had been the one to bring Hunk to him when he’d known that Hunk wasn’t okay.

Shiro never gave up on him when he had first found Keith as a struggling teenager trying to make sense of the apocalypse when he stumbled into Atlas. So, Keith wasn't about to give up on him either. However, he needed to get away from it. The black hole pulling on his throat and heart was going to grow into something that swallowed him whole if he didn't.

The wind ruffling through his hair as the three of them journeyed across cracked asphalt felt freeing. Keith took deep breaths of it to clear the stifled and oppressive sadness that had taken route since finding Shiro, letting it rejuvenate him.

“So, we should choose a house to return to for tonight.” Lance hummed, peering up at a selection of weathered homes as they strolled up the weed infested street. “Like, we need to find a good one, because if there’s _more_ roaches, I will probably cry.”

Lance spoke up, and Keith let out a soft huff in amusement. The dead ran after them with gaping jaws, with their skin turned black and full of lesions and holes; a true horror film monster brought to life and absolutely willing to rip them open and devour them while they were still alive. Yet, Lance didn't scream when he saw them. He screamed at _cockroaches_.

"Better not let you pick the house then," Keith replied, glancing at Lance with a slight tug at the corner of his lips.

“And now you know how I feel about trash maggots.” Hunk drawled with bemusement, hefting his pack higher as he kept an eye out for undead that ventured too close to the gabbing trio. “You must be missing your bed terribly.”

Keith looked away again. He highly doubted they'd find a bug free house. The frames of the buildings seemed to be decaying at the same rate as the rest of the world. Most of them were slowly falling apart, once tall and dry and beautiful, and now moist and dark and decrepit. None of them, on either side of the street, looked like an appetizing choice to sleep in now that the sun was going down.

Not to mention, there could be Zombies hiding out in each and every one of them.

“Absolutely.” Lance laughed, and teetered to the side to bump into Keith. “And I bet Keithy-mc-mullet here misses the soft cuddly comforts of his _bed gremlin_.” Lance wiggled his brows playfully at Keith, a flash of pearly teeth glistening as he teased his friend.

Keith was so lost in his thoughts that he was surprised by Lance suddenly bumping into him. He furrowed his brows as he looked back at the other, and immediately felt his face betray him. Heat rising quick and sudden to his face, glowing on his pale cheeks as he shoved Lance away from him. "Fuck off, Lance."

Lance erupted into noisy laughter, unrepentant in the slightest as he scuttled around to hide behind Hunk. He grinned cheekily, and opened his mouth to retort to Keith.

Keith had felt it coming. Lance was scuttling behind Hunk as if it would save him from whatever wrath his next comment was going to invoke in Keith. And Keith got ready to react, like a match about to be struck, tense and on the defensive.

Hunk put a stop to it before it could happen.

“Lance,” Hunk admonished, and lifted his opposite hand to give the captive Lance a noogie. He was rewarded with Lance’s highly offended squawk. “Behave.”

“Hunk!” Lance whined. “ _Staaaaahhhhhhhhp_!”

A heavy arm and a well placed noogie, and Lance was instantly put in his place. And, in that moment, it felt almost normal again. The strain was gone between Hunk and himself as he gave a semi-amused smile at the two of them. Especially when Lance squawked like a child.

Hunk gave him one more noogie just to make his point, before releasing to wily Cuban to continue his shenanigans as he would. There was no making Lance behave, despite what he imagined. Lance was a wildcard so far as that was concerned- but it was all to make them feel better and keep the atmosphere light. Whatever shenanigans he got into, Hunk knew it was meant with the best intentions- which was why he often bailed him out if he dug himself too deep.

Lance’s sassing was true though. Keith _did_ miss Pidge. He missed her soft body against his own and missed wrapping around her and knowing in that moment she was safe, and so was he. He missed the way she looked at him when she was half asleep, hair all messed up, and the most adorable smile on her face that was vulnerable and open and so _beautiful_. He missed talking with her in hushed tones until they both faded off into sleep.

Keith scowled then, gripping the strap digging into his shoulder. He adjusted his pack. "And _don't_ call her that," he growled.

Lance blew a raspberry at Keith, and ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it back out again. "Fine, I won’t call her a bed gremlin.” At least not to Keith’s face was clearly and explicitly left unsaid.

Lance backed down, which in turn, lowered Keith's hackles. It was a victory. A small one, since Keith could tell just by Lance's tone he was not being sincere in the slightest, which made him narrow his eyes at the Cuban in distrust; but a victory none the less.

Hunk elbowed Lance, and rolled his eyes up to the sky with an exasperated groan.

With Hunk looking away, he missed the way Lance’s eyes lit up at his lively reaction. Lance was actively doing his best to repair whatever had gotten damaged between his two friends- and the way Lance handled that was with humor and jokes and having a good time. Lance had his own brand of smarts, and a lot of that hinged on people skills- even if his flirting was absolute garbage.

Lance had absolutely noticed the strained atmosphere between the two of them- and he had a goal of trying to fix it while on the trip. But, calling them out on it never worked, so it all had to be done in a sneaky and covert way. He also teased to keep them from worrying- and he knew they did.

Hunk had loads of self imposed responsibilities, and Keith was fretting over both Shiro and Pidge. Lance didn’t mind playing the fool if it got both of their minds off of their worries, if only for a few minutes to give their world-weary souls a rest.

Keith hadn't even realized it became almost a common thing until he was out here, days away from Altea with Lance and Hunk. It was suddenly and infinitely harder to stop his mind from worrying without her there to help him slow down, as he often did for her. And he hoped, without him there, she wasn't having the same problem.

God, did he miss cell phones more than ever. He could have called her, or at least texted…

As they turned the corner on to the next block, shadows stretched across the road before them as the sun sunk ever lower. Keith gestured with his head towards the end of the street. "What about that one?" He asked, looking at Hunk.

It wasn't a house. The building was too large to be a home, though, it wasn't bigger by all that much. It could have been a large home at a stretch, but it wasn’t designed like one. It was holding up better than most too, being made of brick and cement rather than just wood and plaster. The small parking lot was nearly lost to the violent return of nature, but the rusted book drop in the front was still visible and revealed that the building was a library.

There wouldn't be beds, but Keith preferred structure over comfort when every second could be his last. Besides, adding books to their collection at Altea was _always_ a good idea, especially when they had curious minds like Pidge, and people who didn't sleep at night.

"Worth clearing out?" He added. No doubt there would be zombies in there. Hunk's nose was usually accurate in giving a head count. Too many and it would be back to square one.

The library was definitely something impressive to see. A lot of them had gone down in the apocalypse that had happened, burned down in the chaotic fires of people trying to burn out the dead. To find one so in tact and _whole_ was something amazing to see. There weren’t many of them anymore, not in that kind of condition.

Hunk’s gaze roved over it, taking in the boards over the windows and the thick padlock and chains holding the door shut. Given that it was secured from the outside rather than the inside, it was safe to say that there were likely a fair few dead sequestered in there, having been sealed up by whatever fool was lucky enough to escape them.

Though… It looked like the lock was old, and the chain even older. It had been rusted for a long time, based on the amount of it he could see clinging to it.

“It’s a library, Keith.” Hunk gave Keith a faint smile, laced with a heavily bemused look. “Do you even need to ask me if it’s worth clearing? It’s _books_ . Books are _life_ , dude. I need all the medical books I can get my hands on, and maybe some botanical books too. Plus, leisure reads. I brought along a bag just for books in case I found some while we were out and about.”

“Yeah, Keith, books are life.” Lance grinned. He didn’t mind carrying some books either. Anything for his hermano. Hunk didn’t sleep, and he needed time to relax too. Video games had used to be their go-to relaxation source, but they didn’t have working game systems yet so books would have to do.

Keith was not surprised by Hunk's excitement. He knew the other was _always_ looking for new books. He knew too, that the books were probably the only things keeping Hunk from going insane late at night. Hunk wasn't the only one who used them, however.

Pidge did too. Pidge loved books just as much as Hunk did. And the idea of going to the library and bringing home more books for her, and the way her eyes would light up upon seeing them, made him just as eager to get inside.

And it wasn't just Hunk and Pidge using the technical books to improve the compound. There were always a lot of people looking for a way to spend their leisure time. Books were a good way to relax and unwind. In a world where everything was high stress, things that helped them decompressed like books were absolutely, and without a doubt, beneficial.

And he looked as if he was about to smile at Hunk, except Lance just had to open his mouth, making him feel embarrassed about his question. Keith shot a glare directly at the lanky Cuban. "Books aren't worth _our_ lives," he growled, defending his earlier question. "And we don't have time to let Hunk mosey around before finding somewhere else to stay."

Lance stuck his tongue out at Keith and blew the most mature raspberry that he was capable of.

Hunk tilted his head, giving the library an honestly considering look, before padding up the street. There were too many dead in the area around them for him to scent inside the building without getting closer, and the chains weren’t tight enough that he couldn’t crack the door open to get a whiff.

Lance hung back with Keith at the bottom of the stairs up to the library, waiting for the yes or no that they could approach and set up there. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d done a door check, only to find the hinges and frame more rotten than it looked, and have a small horde come pouring out after them. They’d learned a lot from their time out on the streets.

Hunk was always their door checker after one too many close calls.

Keith watched Hunk make his way up the stone steps to check on the door, before shifting his dark gaze back out towards the street. The sun was becoming a smaller and smaller orange ball in the sky. Eventually the world would be shrouded in light blues and lavenders as the last of daylight faded. They really needed to set up camp soon.

Not that darkness bothered Keith, but, as experienced as Lance and he were at scavenging, they were useless at night.

Hunk lightened his steps on his way up, his heavy boots barely making a creak as he shifted from making normal human noise into what Lance called his ‘hunter’ mode. Where he usually purposefully made noise so he didn’t unnerve his human companions, the predatory part of his brain had him hardwired to sneak as quietly as he could to have the best chance at catching his prey. It also made it pretty handy for sneaking up and checking doors.

Hunk took a look at the doors. Written on them in chipped and faded paint was ‘Dead here, don’t open’. His stomach twisted a little. Those signs were written on a lot of old buildings from back in the days before the apocalypse had taken their world from them- when humanity had tried to sequester the virus and kill it.

It hadn’t worked, clearly. It had spread, like a biblical plague, overtaking everything and bringing the whole world of technological advancements to ruin.

It was sort of a running joke among the survivors that no amount of zombie movies had ever prepared them for the _real_ apocalypse.

Hunk shook his head and checked the hinges first. They seemed in good condition. So, with little risk of the doors collapsing at his touch, he leaned his ear on the door first, and closed his eyes as he listened. He could hear some shuffling- he could count less than a dozen pairs, ambling along at a pitiful shuffle. The sound of their skin moving was like an aged leather couch creaking with use.

They were moving stiffly, weakly- they’d likely been there for years with no food or water. A healthy zombie still _shuffled_ , too far gone from their human mind to walk like an actual person anymore, but there was a difference in gait between a healthy one and an old shambler. He’d hunted them enough and had to listen to their steps enough to know the difference.

Plus, that’s what he sounded like when he’d ran out of water while crossing Arizona with Lance back before they’d found Allura. He hadn’t died, but he’d been in miserable agony, trying to give all the water they had to Lance. Hunk hadn’t dried up, but he’d been a creaky shuffling mess- and absolutely miserable until they reached a river to soak him in.

It was sort of horrifying to be reminded that even if he didn’t eat or drink, his virus _still_ wouldn’t let him die.

A quick crack of the seal on the door brought him the overwhelming scent of untouched books, dust, and death. Hunk pressed his nose to the crack in the door, and sorted through the scents. The zombies smelled _sickly_. Sickly for zombies, that was- there was a standing chance this library had been bolted shut since the apocalypse had happened. If that was the case, these were likely origin infection zombies- there was no telling what kind of virus they had.

Hunk glanced back at Keith and Lance and turned to head back down the stairs towards them.

When Hunk made his way back down, Keith shifted his weight. He was a little restless and impatient. He felt like time was getting away from him, and he really didn't want to be stuck out in the open like this for much longer. Especially when zombies always seemed a little more active at night fall.

But first, they needed a plan.

“It should be easy enough to clear. I’m guessing less than a dozen from what I could hear moving around. They smell sick- sick for zombies even.” Hunk’s honey gold gaze slid back to the library as he reached his friends, and he frowned. “I think they got locked in there towards the beginning of the apocalypse. They sounded like old shamblers. I could hear their skin creaking from here.”

Old shamblers weren’t as scary as the fresh zombies were, and they were generally frightfully weak. They moved slower, their limbs weak from hunger and severe dehydration. But they were eerie in their intensity- they hyper-focused on whatever prey was closest, or whatever sounded like prey. They were still zombies, and if one got too cocky, a bite could be taken.

Lance rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Less than a dozen shamblers isn’t bad. If Keith and I hang near the entrance, we could draw them out and deal with them in the open rather than hunting them between the shelves.”

"That won't work," Keith argued immediately. "If what Hunk said is true, those zombies are gonna be _hungry_ , and drawing them out one by one is gonna fail. We'll be overwhelmed in minutes."

Just because the zombies were old and weak, didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Once they caught whiff of Lance and Keith, they would be absolutely rabid. It would be impossibly to keep them all at bay.

"We should split up and take them out quietly." Because in contrast to Lance, Keith preferred hunting down zombies between shelves and downing them before they even had a chance to realize the humans were there. He would never be a predator like Hunk, but he knew how to be quick and silent when needed.

Lance’s mind was wandering though, away from plans and to the fact if they were old shamblers, it was likely that it was untouched in there. “I wonder just how untouched this place is though. Like… Libraries usually have couches and chairs. Super, super _comfy_ ones. Do you think they’re still intact?” Lance made a contemplative hum. “We always need _more_ furniture.”

Lance, however, was already letting his mind wander into paths that made no fucking sense, and Keith frowned. "What?" He muttered, furrowing his brows. Lance wasn't wrong, of course, still, Keith couldn't understand what in the world he was thinking. "How the hell would we carry home a bunch of couches!?"

Hunk was strong, but he wasn't _that_ strong. And Keith sure as hell was not going to drag a comfy chair for days on end back to the compound.

Lance had the audacity to shrug at Keith. “I dunno, bro. Hunk is pretty strong. We’ve seen him rip through some metal like it’s tinfoil.” The most recent incident being the trashcan at Zarkon’s. “He could probably carry a whole load of couches.”

“But I want books more than I want a couch.” Hunk remarked dryly. “And meds. We’re here for medicine and supplies. But, I’ll tell you what. If we’re not loaded to our eyeballs in supplies by the time we leave the city, we’ll stop back here and I’ll grab one couch or chair to tote back. You and Keith can cuddle on it at night when we stop, and then we don’t have to deal with your squawks over cockroaches.”

Lance flushed, and pressed a hand to his chest. “Way to call a bro out, dude. I’m wounded, truly. Right here, in my heart, I feel the paaaaiiin.”

Hunk ruffled Lance’s hair, and slid his gaze back to Keith. “Serious time, Lance. Keith’s right- splitting up might be a good idea. But, I’d rather you two stay close to each other. Lance isn’t a close quarters fighter, and his skills with his melee weapon leave something to be desired.”

Keith couldn't help but smirk at Hunk's dry remark. He was glad Hunk agreed with him, and he was also glad Hunk was there to tell Lance that he needed to stick close.

Lance and Keith were like brothers, but they were also like friendly rivals, and Keith was almost absolutely certain that Lance would not appreciate hearing the same sentiment from him as he did Hunk. And perhaps, it had a lot to do with Keith having trouble expressing his thoughts without it coming off as blunt or rude. Not that Keith would have cared _how_ Lance saw it, but given the circumstances, and their rapidly decreasing window of opportunity, Keith decided it was better off letting Hunk do it.

It did not, however, stop him from making a soft huff in amusement at Lance's expense.

Lance made a rude face at Hunk and flipped Keith the no-winged bird for his amused huff. Lance had good ears too, damn it. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad.”

Hunk gave Lance an incredibly flat look. “I had to give you stitches from your own knife because you cut yourself while sharpening it, Lance.”

“That was years ago!”

Hunk just stared at Lance.

Finally, Lance heaved a sigh. “Okay, I’m a _little_ bad.” Lance pouted at Hunk. “This is why Keith is the knife and sword guy, and I’m the long distance shooty guy, and you look like you’re built to wield a war hammer, but you just use knives and machetes and your hands like the biggest badass like, ever. But!” Lance paused his rambling. “I’ve gotten better with knives though!” Lance honestly had. He’d taken some lessons from Keith on actually cleaning knives, and on using them properly, and over the years he’d gotten better.

It still didn’t mean that Hunk didn’t give him shit for it though. But, that’s what friends did- they gave each other shit, and helped make each other better. It made light in dark times, when they all needed the boost. And usually, Hunk and Lance’s behavior made everyone else they traveled with relax too. After all, if two friends could be goofnuts together, then there was still some good in the world and hope to be had.

Hunk wasn’t the only one who gave him shit for it though.

Oh, the temptation to tease Lance was right there in Keith’s chest. Lance made it so easy that he _really_ couldn't control himself. "Better is a strong word." Keith’s smirk grew bemusedly smug.

Keith still remembered the day Lance had approached Keith and admitted he needed help learning how to use a knife. Keith had expected it to turn into a prank. However, Lance had been serious in a way that he so very rarely was, and Keith realized with shock that Lance was being honest about his faults and weaknesses.

Keith was surprised, and maybe a little apprehensive, since he had never really been a teacher before. Lance listened though, regardless of how much Keith floundered through those first few lessons, and he worked hard. Truly, his friend _had_ gotten better.

“Oh fuck you too, Keith.” Lance huffed with no venom or bite. He was honestly just glad the two of them were ganging up to tease him- it was better than the awkward silence but not silence they seemed to have previously agreed upon. They didn’t not talk to each other, but they more conversed with each other through Lance as a proxy.

Hunk shook his head, and took a moment to remove his headband. He brushed all his hair back with his fingers, and then tied his headband back in place to keep his wild mane tame. Not that it mattered- the second he bristled at something was the second it would all go back to being wild and free again.

“Serious talk.” Hunk continued. “Close together would be better than super far apart- and don’t be afraid to shove shelves over if you need to get to one another. Or climb the shelves if you’re cornered. Remember- first rule of clearing a building is ‘don’t get cornered’.” The second was also usually ‘don’t do it alone’, followed by ‘don’t get bit’. Which, the third rule was almost a given in any situation.

“And, preferably, neither of you hit _me_.” Hunk continued. They didn’t have any human meat there to heal him with, and four days was a miserable walk for him to make it back with wounds. “Keep your flashlights on, and get your eyes on your target before you get them in case you use a projectile weapon. I’m gonna go in with my light, but if it blinds me, I’ll probably turn it off so I can actually see what I’m killing.”

Crossing his arms, Keith turned his attention to Hunk as called their attention. It wasn't anything that Lance and Keith hadn't heard before as a pep talk. Still, it was a necessary reminder. Just as it was also necessary to have a back up and exit plan. "Got it."

“Wise idea.” Lance nodded. He pondered the doors, still locked shut, and motioned for Hunk to turn. “Oi, big guy, turn and squat for me. We’re gonna want the bolt cutters. We don’t need you wrecking your hands trying to tear the chains.”

Or the noise that would come from Hunk shredding the chains. As it was, Keith and Lance were gonna have to play catcher for the chain and lock, and ease it out of the door to open it as quietly as possible. Stealth was the name of their game.

Hunk nodded and turned, crouching down so Lance could rifle through his pack. “And if there are more than there sounded like,” Which there sometimes were, as Zombies did sometimes go somewhat dormant and simply stand still or lay still until prey came by to stimulate them, “then I want you both to bail back down the street. Remember the car that Lance stole the fuzzy dice out of? It’s unlocked, so you can hide in there.”

Shamblers were called shamblers for a reason. They were old and slow- their motions were usually disjointed and wobbly, and they couldn’t actually run. But shamblers usually clumped together in numbers and overwhelmed people that way.

“ _Hermano_ , fuzzy dice are the best. Plus, they make great toys for the kids back at Altea.” Lance shrugged. He gave a grunt, and hefted the cutters out. When Hunk was back on his feet, he handed them back up to Hunk, and shook his arms out. “I don’t know how your back doesn’t kill you carrying all that junk in your metaphorical trunk. Those cutters are heavy, Hunk.”

The large zombie just shrugged, slinging the bolt cutters up onto his shoulders and bracing them there with one raised arm. He motioned his group to follow, and began to make his way back up the steps so they could get the lock off the door.

Hunk started up the steps, and Keith followed behind him, trying to walk on his tip toes to be as silent as he could.

Lance moved quietly by nature- but a sniper was used to moving quietly on his toes.

“I’m a pack mule with two legs, Lance. We stopped questioning that like, years ago.” He glanced down to Keith. “You made sure your katana was sharpened this morning, right?”

The questioning of _Altair's_ condition made him scowl. "This isn't my first time scavenging with you, Hunk," He retorted.

Of course he sharpened his katana. He took very good care in making sure his sword was always well cared for, and sharp enough to slice through the heads of decaying zombie's like butter. Just as he was also extremely careful to keep his voice low. The shamblers inside would undoubtedly smell Lance and Keith once the door opened, but before then, he didn't want to be heard. Keith preferred that the shamblers knew they were there when he wanted them too.

“I was only asking to make sure,” Hunk quirked a brow at Keith’s scowl. “Better safe than sorry. You will pout the biggest pout if _Altair_ cracks because it wasn’t sharpened properly and you met a zombie with a big thick skull.”

“Like yours?” Lance grinned cheekily.

“Shush.” Hunk stuck his tongue out at them both briefly, before turning his attention to the door, and the chains at hand.

Taking his spot by the door, Keith grabbed hold of the heavy chains on the opposite side of Lance so that Hunk could snap them open. He strained to catch them before they could clatter together and make too much noise, grunting under his breath, and then silently giving Lance the signal to walk with him and lower it slowly to the floor and out of the way. Once it was carefully and silently coiled like a metal snake, Keith stood back up and moved to face the doors at Hunk's side.

He pulled out his flash light and turned it on, before pushing it into the jimmy rigged handle that one of the woman back in Altea had sewn on to his jacket for him. It lit up the way for him while he worked with his two handed katana. Once secured, he reached behind him to grip the handle of _Altair._ Keith drew the long sword out of the sheath strapped to his back in one go. The sound of it dragging against the leather was similar to a subdued battle cry.

He nodded to Hunk, signaling he was ready.

Hunk opened the doors, and their lights illuminated the way.

Like Keith, Lance also had a couple specially sewn holsters on his jacket, as did Hunk. Both of them had equipped their lights, much like Keith did.

Hunk kept in front of the group. “Remember, lights on my back, not in my eyes.” He whispered.

Lance muffled a snort. “You sound like Riddick. Just need to give you the gravely batman growl, and you’d make a pretty decent Riddick.”

“I don’t think Riddick wants to eat people though, Lance.” Hunk huffed faintly. Riddick was, as he remembered, a morally gray character. Neither bad, nor good- but he could make his own choices to help people or to not help. Riddick mostly chose to be an asshole- but he had the choice. Hunk wanted to be good- but what he had to do, had to be, was very bad. He wasn’t like Riddick- who had been one of their favorite science fiction movies to watch when they were grinding out homework.

Hunk sighed the tiniest noise, and he drew his knives from their holsters on his hips. Through the open doors, the smell of death was a terrible stench. It was old, years upon years of decay and rot drowning out the fresh smell of books and what was once a place of knowledge and learning.

Hunk’s shoulders rolled, muscles tensing as his ears picked up the sound of the dead stirring. The fresh air blowing in was bringing with them the scent of humans- of food. Lance and Keith might not be wounded, but they smelled healthy- even if Keith’s scent usually scoured the inside of Hunk’s nose.

To a starved zombie, it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t wounded or if Keith smelled gross- they were food; food that the zombies had been denied for far too long.

Hunk stalked into the building proper, his eyes adjusting to the gloom lit up by his flashlight, and he disappeared down the rows upon rows of books and tomes covered in mountains of dust.

Lance swallowed, drawing his own knife. He didn’t much like close quarters combat- and that much was clear when his shoulders tensed as the sound of zombies snaring echoed from within the darkness where Hunk had disappeared.

He trusted Hunk, without a doubt- but the noises his best friend could make were honestly frightening. These ones weren’t Hunk’s snarls though- Hunk was moving quietly, incognito, and would remain that way unless he took a bite or ran into trouble. The snarls they could hear were dry, air forced past throats that hadn’t felt moisture in ages, and they rattled out of skin and bones held together by perverse determination to feed. The need to feed, and having it interrupted by the inability to find their meal or, more likely by Hunk, had them snarling in anger and frustration.

The first dying gurgle was a pathetic noise indeed. It wasn’t even a gurgle, so much as it was a soft, airy rasp.

Lance steeled himself against everything that told him to back the hell up and get line of sight for shooting, and went down the row of bookshelves next to the one Hunk had taken. He spotted a couple shamblers down the way, and they were _truly_ grotesque things to see.

All of the flesh on their bodies had shriveled up, and they looked like walking bags of leather. They had torn skin hanging here and there, stained black in places where they’d bled at one point or another. Most of their clothes had rotted away, leaving shriveled forms naked and shivering as they stood on stick like legs that should never have held them up.

When they turned to look at Lance, he felt his stomach lurch as he realized they weren’t looking at him, so much as looking in his direction.

They didn’t have _eyes_ anymore.

The Zombie virus was fantastic for preservation of the body. But, it could only do so much. It would keep the body walking even if it should have been long dead- but the most frightening aspect was the fact that, if given fresh food and water, even the shamblers would begin to regenerate.

The undead were frightening, horrifying creatures, truly. A few bites of fresh human flesh could mend even the ‘gravest’ of wounds for the undead. And only destroying the brain could truly kill them. Even if the head was sliced off, or the spine broken so the body couldn’t move, the mouth would still bite, seeking flesh to consume.

The eyes in the shamblers bodies had shriveled to dark little husks, little blackened orbs that shifted in bloodied sockets as they blindly looked and huffed in air through lips that had long since pulled back over rotted, blackened teeth.

Lance’s stomach churned at more than just the stench, and he kept his steps light as he ghosted closer.

The first one didn’t even see him coming. His knife slid up under it’s skull, right into the sweet spot. It- what might have once been a man if not for all the necrotic rot down below- slumped into his arms, and Lance did his best to guide it down as quietly as possible.

However, he wasn’t nearly as quiet as he needed to be. The other one was still facing in his direction, and it gave a surprisingly spry lunge, gnarled fingers reaching out to coil around him and pull him close.

Lance got an arm up under the jaw, and held it at bay as it began to rasp a horrible screechy noise of success- and then the bookshelves around them rattled as the other shamblers, standing silently prior, began to move and reach, trying to shove through the shelves to get at him and, likely, at Keith.

His knife found it’s way up past his forearm, just barely avoiding cutting himself with the tainted blade, and he sank it up into the brain.

He didn’t bother lowering it down gently- he let it drop, and took steps to get himself to a location that the undead didn’t know where he was at. Only- well.

He tripped. In the dark, Lance tripped over the goddamned zombie he’d downed before, and Lance hit the floor flat on his back.

His light bounced off the ceiling, and illuminated more than the direct beam simply would have before. Which didn’t matter, since the zombies couldn’t see it- but it did let Lance see the unfortunately horrible thing he’d disregarded.

The book shelves were technically hollow- and he’d landed right next to one that had a zombie rolling right out of it, trying to frantically find food.

Lance found himself with a face full of horrifyingly naked and clearly female zombie parts very nearly smothering his face as her knees slammed down on either side of his face. Hands pawed at him, and he scrambled to shove her off, a girly shriek leaving him as he felt her hands touch his pelvis. He planted his hands on leathery thighs and shoved- only to feel her head collide with his shin.

And teeth sank into his pants on his leg.

His shriek turned into a panicked _scream_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: I'm not sure which is more traumatic for Lance. The bite, or the zombie snatch in the face. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: We left you guys on a beautiful cliff hanger last week, didn't we? I hope you all liked it :) Also hope you like this one. ;3 Should answer that burning question you all have- Do we lose Lance? Do we live up to the Character death tag again? Read to find out more!
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "What is your least favorite kind of pudding, and why do you hate it so much?"
> 
> Strider Answer: I actually really, really dislike banana cream pie pudding, because you go in thinking 'Omg banana pie in a pudding how fucking awesome' and it just tastes like plastic and sadness.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "Who is your favorite character so far in WMUH, and why that one?"

There was nothing worse than stumbling upon a locked up building where zombies were wasting away in. It produced a scent that was damn near indescribable. If one were to try, it was the rancid smell of rot that burned Keith's eyes and nose as he stepped into the gloom. He felt something bitter in the back of his throat, stomach threatening to heave, his skin turning even more pale as his hands began to quake. 

It was _stupid_. Lance, Keith, and Hunk had done this plenty of times before. He would even call them professionals at entering run down and musky buildings and exterminating the dead locked inside. 

Yet, still, despite the amount of times the trio had done this same mission, Keith was _scared_. 

Everything inside of him told him to run. His hair stood on end as he walked towards the belly of the beast. The smell sent warning bells all through his system, igniting his nerves. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud he wondered if the zombies would hear it. 

When he silently came upon the first decrepit and shriveled undead, Keith felt the fear hollow him out. He had to stifle a gasp as the blood seeping from those beady dark eyes reflected off his flashlight. 

Before it could make a sound, _Altair_ sliced through it's skull. And then it collapsed against Keith's chest. The smell was stronger now, and he fought the churning in his stomach that had him nearly gagging as he lowered the body down to the floor as silently as he could. 

He inhaled shakily, and then he looked back. Lance was still okay. He watched his friend down one of the zombies as he recovered, before moving further foreword. 

Keith still wanted to turn tail and run. It was instinct- that purely primal part of him desperate to keep him safe and out of danger. The pure instinct of any living thing simply trying to _survive_. Keith persevered because he had to, swallowing the urge to flee and courageously pushing onward.

Reaching the end of one of the book shelves, he putting his back to it. His fingers curled around _Altair's_ handle tightly as he slowly leaned around the corner. He could see Hunk's flashlight on the other side of the library. 

Thankfully the zombies here didn’t see the lights, because in the darkness of the library, their flashlights stood out like beacons. Dehydration had shriveled their eyes to nothing but deep black pits, and instead, the shamblers between the aisles were scenting the air with their mouths and sunken noses, stumbling into one another in search of the humans hiding in their midst.

Keith took a deep breath and then quietly ran across the aisle. When he came to the other side, he held his breath and went still. There was no aggravated and ravaged sounding screams, or the hurried sound of feet however. Keith had made it safely across. 

He didn't see the zombie in front of him in the dark. 

He started to take a step, when a bony set of hands shot out, grasping his boots. Keith stifled the sound that threatened to escape his throat as the zombie dragged itself across the ground. He grabbed his light and angled it down, flashing across a body so thin it was almost a complete skeleton. 

The zombie had been too weak to walk, having gone so long without food and water, and had switched to going dormant. It had been lying in wait until Keith had gotten close enough to strike at- or really, any wandering fool. But it was so weak, dried out like a husk, that it was barely even able to screech and alert the others. It let out breathy snarls drown out by the sound of it's body rattling across the ground. 

Keith swallowed before he pointed the end of _Altair_ at the top of it's skull and shoved down, skewering it with almost an alarming level of ease. He watched it's hands and body slump against the floor, feeling a strange tug in his chest. 

_Hunk_ could of ended up like one of these things.

Not all of the shamblers were too weak to cry out though, and as a terrible scratchy screech sounded from behind him, Keith whirled in alarm. His light shone down the aisle, and he could just barely make out Lance as he dropped the zombie that had latched on to him. 

The damaged had been done, though. The sound had worked up the others. Keith frowned and started to make his way back. He was too far away, and if something were to happen--

"Lance!" He gasped, as his friend went down, feeling his heart drop. Then the air filled with his screams, and Keith’s heart sank like a stone in an ocean. " _Shit!_ "

Keith broke out in a run, his heavy boots sounding loud as they echoed around the library. 

It was like a chain reaction. The shamblers instantly reacted to the stimulating noises, giving out shrieks of excitement and turning their backs to Hunk and quickly shambling towards the sounds of screaming and struggling prey. They pressed into the bookshelf and pawed at it like desperate rats in a cage, causing it to wobble and teeter treacherously. 

One made it around the corner. It was shambling foreword, towards Lance as he struggled with the one currently on him, it’s hands outstretched and teeth making a horrible clacking sound as it snapped it's jaws shut again and again in anticipation. 

Keith got there first, _Altair_ slamming into it's dark socket and then kicking it's lifeless body off the dripping silver blade. 

Then he turned, and his blood went cold. 

There was no mistaking the sawing motion of a zombie that had taken a bite of something. 

"Lance!" He cried out, terrified.

Lance could only scream- panicked and struggling to get the shambler off. Once shamblers latched on, they were not unlike a leech.

To Keith, it didn't matter. It didn't matter if Lance was bit. There was no way in fucking hell he was letting that bitch _eat_ his friend! 

"Get off of him!" Keith demanded as he grabbed for the shambler on top of Lance. He curled his fingers into a fist in what little hair she had and yanked her head back so hard bones snapped. And then he dragged her off, before flesh ripped off in his hand and dark blood began to cascade down the back of her head where her skull was exposed.

Lance was scrambling away as soon as he was free, his scream cutting off into panicked gasps.

"Urgh!" It was a sound of disgust as Keith wiped the flesh off on his pants, and then, grasping _Altair_ , he rammed the katana right into that screeching zombies mouth, making her choke on dark blood. 

Sheathing _Altair_ , Keith ran for Lance. His hands landed heavily on his shoulders, and he squeezed firm as he looked down into wide sapphire eyes. "Come on!" Keith shouted above the sounds of frenzied zombies. And without waiting for the other to register what he said, he was pulling Lance off the ground. His hands coiled into a tight fist in Lance's jacket while violet eyes searched him. "We gotta move."

The book shelf started to tilt. 

Keith glanced at it in front of them with alarm, before grabbing at Lance again blindly and shoving him foreword. "Go, go, go!"

There wasn't enough time for both of them. He knew that. The book shelf was coming down now under the weight of the shamblers. Books started to clatter to the ground around them. 

Keith moved before his mind could catch up, practically tossing Lance as he used his tight hold on the others jacket to shove him foreword. The bookshelf finally succumbed to gravity then, coming down hard and swallowing up the other man, crushing Keith under it's weight. 

The flashlight shining underneath shattered and went out, sputtering like a dying candle before going dark. 

The shamblers on top sprawled out, trying to get to their feet, clumsy and collapsing as they crawled over the shelf. It was a literal river of corpses with their hollow eye sockets and snapping black teeth that were now entirely trained on Lance.

And Lance did the worst thing anyone in the zombie apocalypse could possibly do. He _froze_.

He’d gone sprawling when Keith had tossed him, and his knife had gone skittering from his previously white knuckled grip. He’d rolled onto his back in time to see Keith’s light flicker and die under the weight of the shelf and countless books that buried the dark haired Korean from sight.

Lance’s heart thundered in his chest. He didn’t even feel the sting in his leg. All he could feel was the tightness on his lungs, the panic in his heart, and the deep, unending panic beginning to set in as he realized Keith wasn’t going to rise from under the shelves and help him with the literal ocean of undead bearing down on him.

He made an aborted motion to move, to scramble away, but his limbs froze and he locked up, something he hadn’t done in a long time.

His eyes were wide, his flashlight focused on the wall of undulating leathery flesh and gaping teeth coming for him, on the glittering slick of black ooze streaming from gaping sockets devoid of eyes. It felt like it was in slow motion, a cascade of doom coming for him that he was too slow to get away from.

Lance couldn’t even hear their moans over the rushing pulse of his own heartbeat.

It took forever for him to get to his feet, to scramble a few inches away and grab his knife. It took him years to turn, decades to lift his weapon, to face the shambling wall of death ready to consume him. The ache in his leg reminded him that it had consumed him, doomed him all the same.

His hands tightened on the handle of his knife, and he raised it with the readiness of a soldier knowing he was going to _die._

And then there was a body between him and the wall of death, and a booming snarl that broke through the thunder of his heartbeat.

Lance’s flashlight illuminated broad shoulders as Hunk dropped his knives with a clatter and started crushing skulls with his bare hands, a roaring snarl rippling out of him like the rumble of an engine set on high. Hunk was bristled up, like a bear gone feral, and Lance watched as his best friend ripped through the collected mass with little care for keeping the books unsoiled.

Hunk loved his books. Hunk loved his knowledge, his few remaining links to sanity during the long, long hours of the night. But there was one thing Hunk loved more- and that was his friends. When they were in danger, they came first above anything that Hunk might want to keep and preserve for himself. And here, in the dark depths of a hall of knowledge that was so sacred to Hunk and so many back in Altea, Hunk made his choice quite clear.

Hunk was splattering rotten brain matter over shelves, scattering shards of bones and splashes of gore as he stomped fallen skulls flat, and popped half curdled heads like over-ripe melons.

He was a machine of death, a true monster of mayhem- and he did it with no hesitation, no qualms for the undead he was ending. He dropped scores of them, piling corpse after corpse, and then pursuing them when the ones going after Lance were dead.

The ones trying to dig for Keith didn’t even notice Hunk _coming._

He hit them like a tank, bones and leathery flesh crunching and popping under Hunk’s fists, and he flung them back to pile with the others.

Where Lance had felt frozen for years, Hunk had happened like a tornado, swift and horrifyingly fast, splattering gore in a matter of what felt like seconds, but had really been minutes.

When the only sound remaining was Hunk’s huffing growls- an inhuman sound so often unheard that it even had Lance’s hackles raised- the massive Zombie’s attention shifted.

Lance stiffened, only briefly, at the look on his face. Hunk’s hair was bristled up out of the control of his headband, and his face was splattered in gore. The black blood clinging to his dark skin only highlighted the inhuman glitter that Lance’s flashlight cast upon Hunk’s eyes.

Human eyes didn’t have a shine like an animals did. Freshly turned zombies didn’t either- it was something that developed around, at least for Hunk, the first few weeks of being dead. The the eye shine was unearthly and eerie, especially when focused on someone with the intensity and intelligence of a sane human. The longer a zombie had been a zombie, the more their virus mutated and the more changes it made to the body that had at one point been human.

Hunk, who had been a zombie for many years now, was likely half blinded by his light, but Lance couldn’t find it in him to drop the light.

He watched as those reflective eyes roved up and down him, lingering on his leg and the dark stain where Lance had been gnawed on. Lance hadn’t looked- didn’t _want_ to look. His pants felt wet, and if it was from his blood or zombie slime, he didn’t know or want to know yet. Hunk’s face pulled tight, a flash of something dark and angry, the beast crawling up from the depths to taint the gentle soul that shone like a radiant star.

But now was not the time to panic over Lance or Lance’s leg.

“ _ **Keith**_?” Hunk asked, voice gruff and vocal chords still rumbling with a growl.

Lance could only swallow and point to the bookshelf that Hunk was standing next to.

Hunk turned, and planted one black stained hand on the shelf, and heaved the heavy oak up with the same ease he’d popped skulls.

When people spoke of fearing Hunk, Lance never usually understood why. Even now, after seeing what he’d seen, Lance still didn’t understand it. Not completely. His best friend was the sweetest and most giving man he had ever met, and he used his strengths to help everyone he could, often at his own detriment. He could understand that, if Hunk were like the other zombies, he would be terrifying to face.

Perhaps that’s what scared everyone else. Perhaps he was a fool not to be afraid. Perhaps Lance had lost any chance of truly fearing Hunk long, long ago.

When the shelf was up, Lance found it in him to move, making his way to the pile of books. “K-Keith,” He called, voice cracking. He paused. “Hunk is it-”

“They’re all dead.” He said it with a flat finality- as if he’d rushed to kill any lingering between the shelves on his way to get to them. And, likely, Hunk _had_.

Hunk was a predator with a single minded focus on making sure his humans survived. And if that meant succumbing to the beast that lurked inside to slaughter his own kind like a savage, crushing skulls in his hands like they were melons in a hippo’s jaw, then Hunk _absolutely_ would succumb, even if it made it that much harder to box it up again.

Lance nodded and bumped his shoulder to Hunk’s, letting the touch linger against the tight, cold skin. Hunk was still pulled taut, like the predator in his chest was expecting to have to fight again. Lance did his best to ground him, when he himself was beginning to shake with adrenaline. “They’re dead.” He repeated again, voice wavering like a candle in the wind. “Lets get Keith out and lock up the place okay? We gotta make sure he’s… Okay.”

Lance certainly was not.

Hunk’s nostrils flared, and he sucked in a deep breath as he tried to scent Lance and Keith under the pile of books. But the black splattered across his face- the rancid stench of blood so long aged that it had turned into a sludge thicker than his own- was blocking his sense of smell. It nearly made him snarl with frustration, but Hunk ducked his head and focused on throwing books aside. He didn’t shrug off Lance though, letting the shivering shoulder of the Cuban boy ground him. “Right.” He had to focus.

“Keith,” Lance called, and dropped his hands to help Hunk dig, “Come on, buddy. Please tell me you didn’t get killed by books. I don’t wanna have to tell Pidge that you got killed by books. How lame would that be?” Talk was easy- talk was something he could use to steady himself and steady Hunk. And talk would keep that fluttering bird panicking in his chest tightly tucked in it’s cage.

For Keith, there had been a split second where he had felt it, the crushing weight of the shelf, and the mass of zombie bodies that came with it. It was a brief flash of agony, white hot, as one of his arms was crushed underneath everything- a nanosecond where he felt bones give and snap, and the pain shoot all the way down to his fingertips, and he cried out, before something collided with the back of his head. 

Things had gotten fuzzy then, the world blurring around the edges as his body went limp. There were snarls, but they were hard to hear past the sudden, and unbearably loud, ringing in his ears. 

It had all been chaos. Keith did know that. He had seen the shambling leathery feet of the dead from underneath the shelf, and had seen them fall and squish under heavy combat boots. He had also felt a sense of urgency, as if he should be there in that chaos, but he couldn't remember _why._ Everything seemed as if it was far away. It was hard to grasp and always just out of reach, his mind adrift on a foggy sea that every time he tried to focus on, he felt pain and disorientation tug him back under. 

It was so hard to breathe under the weight. His chest kept heaving, but there had only been the all consuming stench of dust and _rot_.

He had known he’d had to move, but his legs and arms wouldn't listen, trapped both by the heavy weight of books and the invisible chains from his murky awareness. Keith continued to gasp for it, his moist breath buffeting the musty wooden floor. He could taste the iron from the blood seeping out of a cut in his hair and trailing down his face.

Then, suddenly, it had been gone gone. The chaos. The weight. Keith took a harsh inhale. And with it, came a sharp and sudden clarity, as well as an even more sharp, and even more sudden, _agony._

Sounds came back as if he had reemerged from a pool. His ears cleared of the ringing sound, and he could make out the panicked rambling of his friend Lance. He remembered why he felt that urgency then. He sighed in relief. Thank fuck that he was okay.

"Lance," he called, voice a little muffled by the books. "I'm--" 

He made the mistake if trying to move his arm. The pain rattled up his entire body, blinding him in white. He cried out as he collapsed underneath the overwhelming pain, body shuddering and breath coming out ragged, sweat dripping in the same path as the blood rolling down his temple.

"Fuck, my _arm_ ," he gasped. 

He waited until the jagged stabs of pain throbbing in time with his heart faded, hardly hearing words that were murmured to him in clear undeniable worry, before he tried again. This time, he used his other, non pained hand, to push himself out of the river of books. A few of them dropped and thudded against the rest, heavy thumps in the oddly silent building. Keith favored the misshapen arm, swaying a little on his knees.

A sudden resurgence of thought had him looking up. "Hunk?" He asked. 

He should have expected that their undead friend would not be far. And perhaps he was a fool too, or whatever had struck him in the head made him a fool. Because despite the feral look on his friends face, and the sight of dark blood smeared across his skin, only served to make Keith smile in relief.

Hunk was undead, but that didn't mean he couldn't get hurt. And he was glad to see both of his friends were, relatively speaking, safe.

Hunk indeed was not far, and the relief on his face was heartwarming. At least, until it turned to frustration as his hands flexed at the sight of the blood streaming down Keith’s temple. Hunk couldn’t touch Keith with an open wound while he was covered in infected blood. “Keith, don’t move.” Hunk’s voice was very gentle, very soothing, coaxing the dazed Korean not to move and hurt his arm even more. “Lance- my water ration and soap.”

“Wha- oh fuck, right, sorry.” Lance had been staring gobsmacked at the twisted form of Keith’s arm, and had felt his stomach churning with something like guilt. Keith had taken that hit for _him_. If Lance had been under there with him, maybe the bookshelf wouldn’t have landed so hard. Maybe Keith wouldn’t be so dazed- maybe even _concussed_ , given that weird, loopy sort of smile that was on his friend’s face. Maybe things would have been different.

Thinking of the maybe didn’t change the now, though.

Lance scuttled around behind Hunk, and he got the water and soap. He sank down to briskly wash up Hunk as quickly and as cleanly as he could. Considering Hunk packed some of their large supply of anti-bacterial soap, that meant Hunk would come out incredibly sanitary. Hunk was the only one who could be treated while covered in zombie slime. Everyone else had to be careful. It only took a little exposure to an open wound, or saliva, to cause an infection.

Lance paused in scrubbing Hunk’s face, and he shifted his weight on his leg, his mouth suddenly painfully dry at the ache in his calf and shin.

Hunk’s first clean hand hooked into Lance’s front pocket, tugging gently to ground Lance back to reality. “I’ll look.” He said softly. “Infection isn’t immediate. You know that. There’s time to do something about it.” But they had to make sure Keith was okay too. The something that needed to be done to Lance would be time taking, and would require Keith’s katana to be incredibly clean and incredibly sanitary.

It was a mess, weighing one wound as more important over the other. Hunk did not like to do it- and neither did Lance.

“Keith first.” Lance said immediately, already feeling doomed. If he was bit, there wasn’t much they could do. Hunk could physically carry them both- but Hunk couldn’t do that and defend them both. And if they had to take Lance’s leg… Lance would be more of a liability than he wanted to be. It would be easier- safer- to let it run it’s course so they could have a chance at getting Keith back, and making sure they could get Lance back where he could be buried safely.

A flash of white teeth made Lance’s thought process pause.

“Stop thinking.” Hunk’s voice was soft, but firm. The beast was lurking still, ever lurking now that it had been aroused to violence, but the man that loved them both so dearly was trying to cage it away to stuff it down so he could be what his friends needed him to be. With the blood off his face, he could smell Keith’s blood- and as unappetizing as it was, Hunk _hungered_. “You’re very expressive, Lance. I know what you’re thinking. _Stop it._ Think in the now, not the later. One step at a time, okay? One step.”

Lance nodded again, his eyes settling on the almost molten gold reflecting back at him from his best friend’s eyes, and finished scrubbing.

Hunk was as clean as he’d get without a shower, which meant his hands and face were sanitary, which was a necessity for checking infection in wounds and for scenting approaching undead.

Hunk shook his hands dry with a hard flex of his fingers, and then swirled his medical packs around on his hips. “Alright boys, this isn’t gonna be fun. Lance, why don’t you go zip tie the front door shut for the night, and I’ll get started on Keith here.”

Their medic had his work cut out for him identifying the breaks in Keith’s arm, setting them, and in locating the laceration in his scalp and stitching it shut. It wasn’t anything Lance wasn’t used to seeing, but it still wasn’t anything that Lance liked to see.

Wisely, the sniper hobbled away to seal them safely inside.

* * *

 

Keith ended up with a surprisingly clean break- but it did have to be set back into place, as the fall had jostled it right out of place. Hunk had set it with many colorful swears from the sword wielding man, wrapped it and put him in a makeshift sling made from a pair of shirts he merrily tied together. When his arm was secured and no longer moving, Hunk had then been free to set to stitching his scalp back together. 

Four stitches later, with some bandages and a dab of antibacterial salve to keep it clean, Keith had been bundled up on one of the surprisingly comfortable couches in front of an old brick fireplace and told to stay put or they’d tattle to Pidge. Keith was going to have to be monitored over the night. It wasn’t a bad concussion, Hunk was sure- but it still was one, which meant Hunk would need to be waking him frequently to make sure he still _did_ wake up.

Hunk had then gone to Lance, and Lance had held the light for him while Hunk had broken the ties to the door, and removed all of the shambler bodies. One wasted zip tie was worth a little peace from the worsening stench of decay and rot coming from the dead piled on the floor.

The smell in the building lightened just a little without the load of them rotting on the floor- and all of their noses thanked them for it as they sealed the doors once more against the sound of the dead rousing in the night outside.

Hunk had cleaned up again just outside, to keep from soaking the carpet in more liquid that could mold and eventually cause a fire, before he guided Lance back to the fireplace, collecting books along the way. He took a quick glance at them to make sure they weren’t something necessary that they’d needed, before lobbing them into the fireplace and grabbing the lighter in his back pocket. 

Hunk had grabbed dictionaries mostly- because it was safe to say, as the king of reading to retain his sanity, no one would _ever_ read the dictionary for fun or to relax and unwind from a stressful day. Dictionaries were boring.

And dictionaries were big, thick books- and they made great kindling to help light some of the easily broken down bookshelves on fire.

The fire place was old and full of more dust than the rest of the building, which spoke numbers to how long it had been unused, but it still functioned and provided heat and light and funneled the smoke out of the building and into the pitch black night sky.

Keith wasn't sure what was worse. The exhaustion that settled over him like a chunk of metal in his head and shoulders, the throbbing pain of his arm that kept radiating up in his shoulder, or the fact that he had to watch Lance and Hunk work on cleaning out the library and set up the fire while he lounged on the couch and was unable to help.

He knew he probably wouldn't be of much help, honestly. His mind was still fuzzy, and his arm was useless. The pain was definitely taking it's toll, his skin rendered even more pale and glimmering under the firelight with a sheen of sweat. Still, watching his friends made him restless. Keith wasn't one to sit still and be cared for like Hunk had done. He wanted to move, and to work. 

He still had one good hand. Keith could have at least thrown books in the fire.

Moodily, he pouted and remained where he was. Partly because being stubborn and getting up despite Hunk's orders not to do so sounded far too exhausting for his already tired body. Mostly, however, it was because he feared the wrath of his girlfriend should his friends _actually_ tattle on him when they made it back. Pidge was small, but she knew everyone's weakness, and Keith knew she would take him down in seconds.

And, after a few moments, he let himself doze, staring into the growing flames until they began to blur together. Keith laid his head back against the dusty old couch cushions and let the exhaustion start to drag him further and further away from reality while his friends fussed with everything.

“Lance… It’s time.” Hunk said as he straightened, glancing at his best friend. His gaze slid down to his leg- the dark mark on his jeans. Hunk hadn’t smelled blood- but even the tiniest scratch...

The time working and hauling bodies had done wonders to settle the beast. The hunger in Hunk’s belly hadn’t gone away, but he was more himself again. It was probably the only reason he wasn’t freaking out. Hunk had performed enough sudden amputations to know there was about a one hour window before the infection spread too far to be stopped, depending on the location. The leg, that low on the leg, was about two hours if they took it at the knee.

Lance plopped onto the couch next to Keith and had ended up leaning into his good shoulder. 

It was the shift of the couch that startled Keith, making him jolt. It brought a sharp pain to his arm, whiting out his vision and making him hiss. He blinked, and then settled his dark eyes on Lance beside him. "Hey," he accused, voice a little gruff. 

But the look on his friends’ face kept any other insults from escaping him.

Keith hadn't forgotten; he had just displaced it while the others moved about because he had to. The anxiety would have only made his restlessness increase tenfold if he hadn’t. Now, however, it returned with a vengeance. And suddenly Keith was sitting up as Lance leaned into him, furrowing his brows and forgetting about his own misery and the exhaustion weighing down his eyelids.

Keith wasn't normally touchy-feely. His body tensed instinctively at contact, even with Pidge. Yet, as Lance swallowed, and spoke, voice so small and _scared_ , Keith lifted his good arm and wrapped it around those slender shoulders. He let Lance lean further into him, wordlessly offering the other the comfort he sought. And perhaps, selfishly, getting comfort for _himself_. 

“Sorry...” Lance murmured his brief apology to Keith. He glanced up at Hunk, and his arms folded into his chest as he glanced down at his leg, leaning deeper into Keith’s side. He watched Hunk move, sitting down in front of them both, and Lance hesitantly lifted his boot to plop it in his best friend’s lap.

“What do we do if it is…?” Lance swallowed. “If I _am_ infected?”

Lance bitten; Keith couldn't imagine it. He didn't _want_ to imagine it. He had seen it before, the suffering that the infected endured. He had already lost so many to it, as had most of the survivors left. His fingers curled tightly into Lance's shoulder as he imagined it happening to Lance. One of his best friends, who was always so _bright_ , just wasting away, shriveling to nothing, and then returning as a frothing, biting, beast with no consciousness…

Keith took a sharp intake of breath. His stomach twisted with invisible hands that were ice cold and black, squeezing his insides. A dark sludge of terror flooded him, until it felt like he was choking on it. 

He _couldn't_ lose Lance. Not when it had been _his_ idea to sneak around in the library. Not when Lance was so much better than him with guns and people. 

Hunk’s palms were cold and gentle as he took Lance’s leg into his hands. His thumbs pressed in gently under the wet spot of the bite, and he watched Lance wince. “Sorry,” He apologized immediately. “If you are infected, we’ll handle it, Lance. And, then I’ll get my chance to make you a prosthetic, eh? Get to kick people with a metal leg. How cool would that be?”

"Hunk's right," Keith murmured. "We'll figure it out."

“I always forget that you were a bio- fuck whatever they are. The limb making people, before the world went to hell.” Lance gave a weak chuckle. He cuddled deeper into Keith’s side, and watched as Hunk rolled up his pants leg, his heart speeding up with apprehension.

“Biomechanical engineer.” Hunk corrected. “But yes, I made limbs for people. And, I have all the time at night to make a limb for you too. But...” Hunk tilted his ankle, and ran his hand up his leg. Lance’s leg had bloomed in a sickly purple bruise- but the skin was whole. No scratch to be seen or felt, and an inhale only produced the scent of sweaty human skin, and a wave of saliva that Hunk had to swallow down. 

Keith held his breath as Hunk pulled the pants leg up. It was hard to see in the dim light of the camp fire, but he could make out the dark and swelling mark. And for a moment, his eyes _burned_. His world came to a halt. It looked so _much_ like a painful bite. He desperately didn't want it to be true. 

He lost and failed Shiro already. He couldn't handle the thought of losing and failing Lance too. It would tear him apart, filet him open until there was nothing left but a raw and gaping heart. 

Hunk fixed Lance’s pants, and plopped his leg down. “No metal leg for you this time, _hermano_. Just a nasty bruise, and a story to tell, I’m sure.”

Hunk said _no_. No bite. No infection. Keith exhaled loudly, a rush of shaky air as he closed his eyes. Relief was so immense that it was tangible in the air around him. His fingers held that tight squeeze on Lance's shoulder a moment longer before releasing in the same instant the other slumped. Keith spent a silent moment thanking whatever gods were out there that he had actually gotten to Lance in time.

Lance blinked slowly, his body having slumped into the couch and out of Keith’s grip. “Just a bruise. Just a nasty, nasty fucking bruise. Thank fucking god.” Not that Lance was opposed to ending up like Hunk, but Lance knew the chances of that were slim. They’d tried before- Nadia would forever be fresh in his mind, no matter how many years passed him by- and every time they tried, no one ended up like Hunk. Hunk was an anomaly.

The sharpshooter just didn’t want to end up like one of the walking dead outside, lost to the world and unable to do anything but ruin lives and eat until someone put a bullet in him.

Hunk gave Lance a knowing smile, and patted his knee. “Just a bruise.” Hunk agreed. He got up then, hauling to his feet and moving to his pack to fetch their rations. It was mostly just elk jerky, but Hunk had also made protein cakes and there were also few pieces of fruit leather there to give them something sweet to enjoy after they ate their protein. 

Protein cakes weren’t as tasty as they sounded- they were something like a bastard lovechild between a brownie and a cookie, but loaded in protein powder. They were thick, heavy, and preserved well- they also made up the bulk of his humans meals on the road, since carbohydrates lingered longer than the quick energy sugars in the fruit leathers.

“Ah, fruit leather.” Lance eyed what Hunk was collecting, and flopped to the side to give Keith his space, finally. 

Keith smiled, first at his friend and then at Lance's relief. At least until the other flopped and jostled the couch again, making him cringe as the movements ricocheted through his still very tender arm. "Would you quit moving around?" He snapped- and just like that, everything was normal again.

“Sorry,” Lance glanced at Keith’s arm briefly, before his gaze slid back to Hunk. “Seriously though, fruit leather. You chew and you chew and you chew, and it still tastes like fruit, but it never goes down.”

“Maybe you need to chew harder, and not suck on it like it’s a sucker.” Hunk advised, doling out rations. 

He politely opened Keith’s for him just enough for him to get it open on his own without straining his arm, and then sat down on an adjacent chair, cracking open the remainder of his water bottle. He tipped it back to drink, letting the liquid trick the hunger into thinking it was being sated as he relaxed into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Lance was right- the chairs were still comfortable, even after so many years. Hunk was sorely tempted to tote them back just so he could have something of comfort for himself, even if he didn’t _need_ it.

"Or just swallow it whole," Keith remarked, slowly settling back down against the cushions as Lance made an immature face at him. It felt as if his worry over Lance had used up the last of his energy, and that suddenly he was so tired that he couldn't keep his head up. He barely had the energy to offer Hunk the weakest of smiles as the large Samoan opened up the jerky for him to make it easier.

He knew he should eat. Keith was too tired to do much more than hold the jerky against his knee while his eyes slowly drifted back towards the fire to watch it crackle and burn. His eyelids were growing heavy. 

The quiet was calm. Nice. _Safe._

There was silence for a time, just the calm sounds of Hunk slurping water, and the boys eating their rations. The fire was crackling, the noise a warm rush of hyper-dry wood being devoured quickly by the hungrily intense flames.

Lance ate everything, until he was down to his fruit leathers. It was there that he paused, and his face seemed to go unnaturally pale as he looked at the rolled, wrinkly pieces of leathery fruit pulp in his hands. It smelled sweet, was sweet- but all he could see was the dark, bruised flesh of the dried, wrinkly zombie vagina that had very nearly flopped right into his face.

“Lance?” Hunk tipped his head, concern flitting across his face as he watched his best friend just staring at his fruit leathers. He took his last drink of his ration for the day, swishing it across his mouth to make sure everything was pleasantly moist.

The sound of Hunk's quiet concern had Keith rolling his head back towards Lance again though. He blinked once, clearing the exhaustion from his gaze, and then furrowed his brows. He knew Lance disliked the fruit leather. Who didn't? It was tough to eat, dry, and not at all as appetizing as a nice fresh apple or strawberries picked off the vine. Lance was looking at it in horror though, as if it was about to sink it's teeth into his face. 

What he expected, maybe, was Lance realizing he had almost died today. That there was a very real chance that the bruise could have been a real bite, and if the amputation didn't send him into shock, or cause a blood infection, then the zombie virus would get him. 

What he expected was not, however, what he received.

“I got sixty-nined by a zombie today.” Lance said abruptly, with incredibly deep dismay. “Guys. _Guys_. I feel _violated_.”

Hunk choked, and his mouthful of water shot out his nose and down onto the carpet as he sputtered, bewildered and horrified at himself for how amused he was at Lance’s dismay.

Keith blinked a second time, letting it process. It came all at once, the image of Lance with a zombie in a sexual position and sucking on fruit leather- and it was ridiculous. The laughter burst out of him, his head throwing back against the couch cushion as he dropped his fruit leathers and protein cakes in his lap in favor of clutching his gut.

When Keith burst into laughter, Hunk followed suit shortly. He couldn’t stop it, once he’d cleared his airways. Keith’s laughter came in short, almost hysterically giggly bursts, brought on by the ridiculous hilarity of the statement Lance had faced them with, and the sound of his laughter was like a plague in itself. 

It was contagious, bringing Hunk’s choking snort into a full chortle, and then a rib rattling laugh. Contrasting, Hunk’s was deep and continual, and he hunched over his lap to try and muffle the loud baritone noise.

Lance could only stare at them for a moment, the horror bleeding off his face. Relief filtered across his cheeks slowly, as he listened to their laughter, and it took only a few moments more for him to join in too. He abandoned the fruit leather off to the side for Hunk to pack up again, and draped himself over the arm of the couch, his chest aching with the force of his laughter, and his eyes stinging with moisture as he let the laughter melt away the stress that had his muscles kinked up tightly.

This was the kind of laughter that all three of them needed after a bad scare. The belly deep, cheek splitting, side aching kind of laughter brought on when the tension snapped by a silly kind of comment. Lance was good at those- and even if it was at his expense, Lance didn’t mind. Even he could admit the image of him getting a face full of rotten zombie cootch was about as horrifying as it was funny- and the fact he compared it to fruit leather inadvertently made it all that much funnier.

This was, perhaps, what made the three of them such a good team. They might have come out with bad blood between them, and they might have already had someone hurt and a scare of someone getting infected, but here they were at the end of the day. They could laugh it off, comfort each other, and make the deep darkness of the night feel less enveloping and crushing.

Friendship like theirs was something else indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: So... I'm gonna be honest with you guys- I did end up losing my muse for this story. It is entirely my fault here. My writing muses just kinda up and died for Voltron in general (Which sucks for the 200+k fanfic I was writing with my bestie that we hadn't posted yet). All of my rp partners for this fandom are suffering together. But- we have several chapters back written, so you'll at least be getting those, plus the side story I did for Lance and Hunk meeting up.
> 
> And, if you guys want, I can put together the plot line we had for the rest of the series once we reach the end of the chapters available. I might just do it anyways- I know how it sucks to not have a story finished, and even if you only know how it ends, well... It'd only be fair to you.
> 
> Now... Questions!
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "Who is your favorite character so far in WMUH, and why that one?"
> 
> Strider: I'm biased. I write Hunk, Lance, and Pidge for WMUH, so they're sort of my babies. Of the three, Hunk is my favorite and by far the most fleshed out of my characters, and it's mostly because my Hunk is a surprisingly quirky bastard when he wants to be. However, of the characters that I haven't written... I honestly fell in love with Weenie's Romelle.
> 
> Do I even need to explain why? She's literally sunshine incarnate. I love her.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "Which is worse- dog drool, or cat drool?"

The bruise on Lance’s leg slowed them down considerably. While the bite hadn’t broken the skin through Lance’s thick jeans, it had bruised both the surface tissue and surrounding area, and a lot of the deep tissue around the bone as well. Walking was, come morning when any and all lingering adrenaline was gone, absolutely agonizing.

Not that it wasn’t for Keith either. The first day of a break was the easiest. Day two, when all of the muscles around the bone began to swell up and knot up, was when it grew even more painful. While Keith’s arm hurt like hell, his legs and other arm worked just fine. It did limit his ability to fight though- _Altair_ couldn’t be safely swung hard enough to kill an infected with just one hand.

Getting out was gonna be a problem, and Keith knew it instinctively, even if his head was still fuzzy.

Keith wasn't generally one prone to thinking ahead. He was more reckless, running on instinct, a trait that he remembered Shiro constantly trying to discipline him out of before Zarkon had come and ruined everything at Atlas. However, with his katana out of commission and a broken arm, Keith could only do so much with his dagger. With the heavy pain throbbing in his arm slowly getting worse as the sun climbed higher and higher, and his head still pounding from the beating it took last night, he wasn't very good at listening to his instincts either. 

He was a liability, and he knew it. The long and grueling process of Hunk leading him silently through ‘safer’ paths in the city was taking up precious time and putting them all at risk. He knew the pain was making him lag. Sometimes it was hard to overcome it when they stopped so Hunk could scope out the next path with his inhuman senses and his ability to blend in. Keith was almost always left bowing his head and sweat dripping down his temple as he tried to focus through it.

He couldn't imagine what it would have been like had Hunk not been there to set and mend it with what little supplies they had. 

Still, that didn't keep him from thinking a few times when the pain had him slumping against a brick wall and gritting his teeth, that maybe he should just find a building to hold up in until Hunk returned. It wasn’t exactly like he was of any use as he was.

Lance kept going though, so he did too. 

It was both comforting, and concerning, that Lance wasn't badgering him to keep up. In fact, he was even slower than Keith was. 

Keith sometimes badgered Lance too- it was just a thing Lance and Keith did to each other when they were injured and slowing. They would rile each other up and get each other to move, using light teasing to invigorate and keep their little party moving, and in their own backwards was, show how much they cared by keeping each other from giving up.

Lance was just as injured as he was, though. Keith could see every limp and every hidden wince. He came to a private and silent one-sided truce with the Cuban, however. He wouldn't hurry Lance, because he also wasn't doing so hot. It would be less friendly, and more _condescending_ , if he engaged their competitive attitudes now. 

The tattered duo were being dutifully guarded by Hunk since they had set out that morning, making the trek deeper into the suburbs of the city and working their way around hordes of infected lingering in an undisturbed stasis in dark alleys and abandoned yards.

Their charted course, accompanied by their helpful Zombie’s nose, took them on a cherry picked path through the densely populated zones, and, thankfully, right to their destination.

The longer they took to weave between the buildings, the more nervous Keith grew. Getting out while the sun was setting, with more than half their party injured and losing steam quickly, with rattling bags that would be heavier and fulls of pills? It was going to be a nightmare. Maybe even impossible. 

He kept his thoughts to himself, though he doubted it would be for long. Hunk would smell out his anxiety and address it _eventually_ , and Lance... Lance just always seemed to know no matter how hard he tried to keep it bottled up. He hated his friends for reading him so well when he didn't want to be seen, yet, at the same time he adored them for it. 

They arrived at their first Pharmacy with little trouble. It had been looted a few times, but not nearly as much as others had been. It had been cleared out once before- the dead bodies long rotted outside- and chained once more as well, but it didn’t appear to have been disturbed in a long, long time. Likely, the hordes surrounding it had once been people who had tried to reach it, but they’d been gotten and turned into more fodder for the army of the dead.

It honestly wasn’t that surprising that it was fairly untouched. A lot of the big-big cities were left mostly alone after the infection went into full swing. That was, of course, where the largest concentration of the undead were. Smaller towns were nasty enough. But a country town population of fifteen thousand was vastly different than a big city population of, say, the four million or so people that had at one point been in Los Angeles.

Big cities- like the one they were currently in the suburbs of- had larger hordes. Mega hordes, as they were called. Hundreds of thousands of zombies could gather and give chase, and very few could get away, simply because the dead never stopped, and once the hordes were out of the city, there was little chance of getting them back in.

Most people who triggered the hordes in the city didn’t try to get out- they hid in houses until they were either found and devoured, or managed to wait out the horde and escape. More often than not, it was the former rather than the latter.

The fact that few people braved the big cities meant that for the three men, it was a literal treasure trove of resources, ripe for the picking, and entirely theirs so long as they were careful going in and going out, and didn’t draw a horde right to their location.

Still, Hunk didn’t take any chances in trusting his ears or his nose. When he picked the locks- because chaining it up again ensured it would likely still be something they could loot again on a return trip- Hunk was the first one into the pharmacy, while Lance stood guard.

Keith put his back to the pharmacy window as Hunk went inside, checking to make sure the area within was safe. His knuckles were tight around the dagger in his hand, violet eyes narrowed and watching the eerily silent streets for any sign of movement. They were incredibly lucky that the horde had decided to congregate on the other side of town, save a few stragglers in small groups here and there, and not in front of their target.

Hunk checked it- _thoroughly_. And there were no dead, anywhere- and no access for sudden surprise entry either. It was simply a moderately looted pharmacy, ripe for the sacking. Long dead refrigerator units held long expired soda and bottles of water, and one corner was filled with a whole forest of mold and other foul things that at one point had been snack foods. Years of time had turned them into their own ecosystem of slime and mold, and the smell made his eyes burn.

But, it was safe.

Hunk made his way back to the door and motioned his team inside. “Guys, I gotta say. We are gonna definitely make a haul. Getting it out of here is going to be absolute hell with all of the pills rattling around, but, man.” Hunk grinned. “This place is _loaded._ ”

When Hunk reemerged, Keith sheathed his dagger on his belt, giving a tired smile. Good, he mused to himself. Loaded meant every tense second and all that wasted time getting here made it worth it just to have extra bags and an extra set of hands. Er, _hand_.

“And little wonder _why._ ” Lance snorted. “Did you see all of the zombies on the way here? Like, if we had made any little noises, or if that trashcan had tipped over, we’d have been swarmed, and would have had to do the gross method to get away.”

Hunk’s blood was incredibly, incredibly rank- and, when applied liberally to the skin and clothes, made for an amazing camouflage in case of a dire emergency. Still, it was gross to slice open his best friend. But they’d done it- it was actually Hunk’s idea first off to do it, back when it had just been Hunk and Lance on their own.

"I don't think we would have had time for the gross method," Keith pointed out, oh so helpfully.

“It’s entirely possible, but we still would have tried.” Hunk chuckled. 

Zombies in a frenzy, especially in a mob like the one they had safely maneuvered around a few hours before, could be shockingly fast. And generally, cutting open your friend to paint yourself in his blood took _time_. More time then it would have taken for the zombies to converge on them.

It was also an incredibly hard pill to swallow, so to speak, no matter the fact that they could fix Hunk up with relative ease. Stitches would hold him together until they got home.

Keith shuddered at the thought. "Thank fuck for your nose, Hunk."

“You say that now.” Hunk muttered lowly, nearly unheard.

Stepping inside, Keith coughed once at the sour scent of mold and rotting food. It wasn't anything he hadn't smelled before. The apocalypse had kind of turned the worlds refrigerators into mini science experiments. Still, it took some time to grow accustomed to the shift of death on the air, to rotting milk and cheese. 

"I'm so sorry for your nose, Hunk," Keith added, amending his earlier statement.

Given how sensitive Hunk’s sense of smell was, the rancid smell of a moldy ecosystem that hadn’t been disturbed in years was incredibly foul. 

On the norm, Hunk could track deer for several miles in the forest- and he could sort through the stink of human bodily odors and functions to tell if there was infection or something like lead poisoning in the body. Which meant that, at length, such a condensed amount of stink in a small area was definitely foul.

It actually had his empty stomach churning unpleasantly. Nausea from something other than food was definitely still something that could occur. Hunk gave Keith a smile that was less cheery, and rubbed his nose against his bicep. “It’s okay. I’m just taking shallow breaths. It’s really not all that bad if I breathe through my mouth.”

Lance lifted his shirt up over his nose, and shuffled into the building to begin scavenging through the shelves for anything non-medical they might need. “I dunno, bud. Even I can taste it, and that’s saying something.”

The pharmacy was in the back, he noted. Keith shifted the bag a little on his shoulders and began to head his way down. 

“Lance,” Hunk groaned, “Don’t be an ass. I can taste it too, but I am really trying not to think about it.” He lingered at the entrance for a moment, watching them, before heading to the back with Keith. He was slower, much slower though, as he looked through the shelves and gabbed with Lance.

Keith arrived before Hunk did at any rate.

It looked as if there had been, at least at one time, raiders here. The pin code that locked the door had been smashed, and was dangling by a single red wire on the adjacent metal door. The motorized blinds had been half lifted, revealing bullet proof glass that remained intact, but had several cracks and dents. 

Inside, papers were strewn about, and some bottles had collapsed and opened up, pills dissolving into the carpet. It was a mess, but at least the shelves were still full of bottles. 

Keith pushed open the door with his foot and started to look around. He didn't know a damn thing about any of this, but before coming, Pidge had made him memorize a list of some of the things he should look for, most of them ending in -icillin.

He didn't have Hunk's senses, but Lance was so damn loud that even in the back of the pharmacy, he could hear him in the aisles. The smell of mold and rot was enough to make _his_ mouth water unpleasantly, and for his stomach to feel a little unsettled. As long as he didn't think about it, he would be fine.

Which, was exactly what Lance was trying to make him do. Well, he was talking to Hunk specifically, but Keith still felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. 

He walked back out around the corner to peer out the consultation window at the offending person in question. " _Lance,_ " he warned. 

Lance’s snickering followed Hunk up through the shelves. He ignored Keith’s hissed warning too. In fact, it only seemed to spur him on more. “Are you sure I shouldn’t be an ass, Hunk? I mean, I _couuuuld_ go on about what it smells like. I could sing you poetry about the finer bits of the sour fungal smell, and the higher, sickly sweet smells of rotten garbage-”

Hunk huffed a not-real growl at Lance. “You could do that, but then I’d probably dry heave, and you’d feel bad, and then Keith would have to chase you down and scold you because we’re supposed to be working. _And_ you can’t run very fast.”

“Keith has one arm.” Lance pointed out, as if that would protect him from Keith’s wrath.

“Yes, but Keith is better with hand to hand combat, and all he’d have to do is boot you in the leg, and you’d probably cry.” Hunk retorted lightly. “He doesn’t need his arm to give you a good swift kick, you gimp.”

Hunk was absolutely right. Broken arm and headache be damned, if he or Hunk threw up because of Lance, he would definitely chase his friend down and flattened him to the tile floor. Which, Lance seemed to doubt he would be able to do, and in turn, had Keith scowling. If Lance really thought Keith wouldn't pummel him despite being handicapped, then he was seriously underestimating his friend. 

Keith was about to retort, but Lance presented him with a _golden_ opportunity. 

“Fuck.” Lance breathed. “You’re right. Also, you want some more tools? Looks like someone missed a… I don’t actually know what this is, but it grabs nuts and twists ‘em tight.”

"I'm going to use it to twist _your_ nuts tight if you don't cut it out." Keith retorted.

Hunk’s inhale of air had him coughing on something between a laugh and a gag at the smell that he was so stoutly trying to avoid. “It grabs _nuts_ , huh? Twists ‘em tight?” 

Neither of them had to see Lance to hear the flush that invaded his voice as he sputtered and switched to  flustered Spanish.  “ _¡No es mi culpa! El inglés no es mi primer idioma, ya lo sabes._ ”

Keith seemed quite smug about Lance sputtering back at them both in Spanish. He didn't need to know what was being said to know that he had won. Keith pinned Lance with that competitive smirk before turning his back on him, not even giving Lance a chance to retort as he disappeared in the aisles of medication bottles.

Keith dropped his bag on the ground by his feet, and then knelt down, stepping on the straps with his boots so he could unzip it one handed. Pulling the old and weathered bag open as wide is it could go, he left it there as he stood back up and began to shift through the shelves. Some of the labels were worn, but he could make out the names, so he started at A and began pulling the Amoxicillin off the shelf. 

Hunk’s laughter was subdued, but still there as he tucked his nose into his shirt like Lance had done. “ _Lo sé, y sabes que te quiero, hermano. Y porque te amo, puedo darte todo tipo de mierda._ ”

“ _Vete a la mierda._ ”

“Love you too,” Hunk laughed.

Lance made a rude motion with his hand, sticking it above the shelves like a high flag. “Go sort pills with mullet man, you ass.”

Hunk laughed harder and shuffled into the room after Keith, leaving Lance out to continue raiding the shelves and to keep an eye on the door. With the mold and new ecosystem growing out there, Hunk couldn’t necessarily smell the dead coming anyway- Lance’s eyes, which were generally better than Hunk’s during the day, would be their golden ticket to knowing if they had company coming.

He heard Hunk join him. Rather, Hunk _let_ him hear him as he moved towards the shelves covered in equipment and syringes. Keith glanced over his shoulder once before he returned to his task.

His eyes roved over the shelves, and he tentatively let go of his shirt. Unlike the front part of the pharmacy, the rest of it seemed relatively sterile. The melted pills smelled like chemical compounds, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the mold and mildew out in the front that made Hunk want to vomit.

“Alright.” Hunk breathed slowly, and padded his way to the shelves. There were pills upon pills, and almost all of them still had their labels, surprisingly. There were also rows of shelves with syringes and needles and tubing that Hunk was going to take too. 

They needed everything medical they could get their hands on- and syringes and needles both had to be sanitized in boiling water and reused, much to his distaste. But the factories didn’t make them anymore- factories didn’t make anything anymore, really. Any chance to add more syringes to his collection was a good chance.

He scooped up one of the bottles that had been of something or other that his mind recognized as useful from the medical textbooks he had, and he jerked to a harsh stop at the rattle that grated at his ears. That would bring the undead running like no other, he thought- it was an honestly annoying noise, and he wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t made a face at it.

He couldn’t see any cotton either. He remembered the hospital he’d worked at briefly had a pharmacy that had used to put cotton balls in the pill bottles to keep the pills from rattling- and while it was incredibly time taking to do that with every bottle, it might save them trouble in the long run.

But… They also could over fill the bottles. If they could match the exact pills with their exact dosage, and simply consolidate bottles until there was no room for the pills to rattle, it would not only cut down on the amount of bottles they’d have to carry, but it would also cut down on noise.

“So. Ideas.” Hunk said, turning his gaze to Keith. “We can either try to find cotton balls-”

When Hunk spoke, he paused, a bottle in his hand, and turned to look at him. Keith cocked a brow. "Cotton balls?"

“Some out here!” Lance’s voice wafted to them. “Not even opened either, fucking _sweet_ \- I’m taking these.”

Hunk heaved a bemused sigh. He didn’t want to know what Lance would do with them, but probably something mischievous. 

Lance's voice perking up from the aisles had Keith’s brow rising even higher. And the second one joined the first, surprised, and then pinching together in what could only be called reluctant curiosity. It matched Hunk's bemused sigh. He didn't know why Lance needed cotton balls, and he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know why.

“As I was saying. We can requisition one of those packages from Lance, and stuff the bottles with them so the pills don’t rattle- or we can consolidate bottles. Match the pills with other pills of the exact same type and dosage, consolidate until the bottles are packed and won’t rattle anymore- which would also save on space and let us take home more while carrying less packaging.” 

Returning his focus on Hunk, Keith considered both options while glancing down at his bag. The bottom was already full with three different Amoxicillin bottles. They were on the same shelf, behind one another, so he had to assume they were the same thing. Thus, opening them to see if they could consolidate the pills into one bottle to stop the rattling seemed like a far much better plan, because it had the added bonus of allowing them more space. And more space meant more room to carry different medications they may need. 

"Consolidate," Keith decided, kneeling down to pick his bag up off the ground. 

However, there was also one hiccup with this plan.

Keith shifted towards the table that must have been used, at one point, to dispense and package the medications. He tossed the bag to dump the bottles on to it, dragging it back off by the rear so whatever got caught would roll out too. 

"I can't open these bottles," Keith admitted, shoving his bag to the side. They were all child proof, which meant it required two hands, one to push down and one to twist the cover simultaneously. He wasn't doing any of that with his arm still throbbing the way it was.

Keith leaned foreword to grab some of the bottles that were rolling and rattling loudly, and stand them up, corralling them with one hand into a little pile. "I still remember the medications Pidge told me I should get. I'll find them, and any others you think I should grab, and bring them here so you can consolidate them?"

The noisy clatter of bottles being dumped onto the table had all of the hair on Hunk’s head lifting, and he dropped the bottle he was holding to clap his palms over his ears, a growl rattling out of his chest and snarling lowly through his teeth before he could instinctively smother it. Hypersensitive senses meant that noises, when they came suddenly and he couldn’t brace for them, could be nearly as painful as Keith’s arms.

And the sound of hundreds of little pills slapping against each other, tumbling over and over and echoing inside of a tiny plastic can, which also bashed against other tiny plastic noise makers, was effectively like shoving knives into his ears.

The sudden movement startled Keith, and he turned sharply, watching the bottle fall from Hunk's grasp. He realized, too late, and with a horrible stab of guilt to his gut, his mistake. Of course dumping the pills like that would have hurt his friends ears. He should have been a little more tactful about it at least. However, that guilt did not stop the sharp spike of adrenaline and fear rushing through his veins so fast that, in a split second, his good hand was going for his belt instead of holding the bag. He let it drop, laying abandoned by his feet, as his violet eyes went wide as he stared at the undead man. 

Keith knew Hunk. Hunk was his friend. He didn't know him like Lance did though. He hadn't been there in the very beginning with Hunk. No, his first memories of the apocalypse were full of fear and blood and death. Sometimes he dreamed about it, waking up in a terrible sweat and so restless he leaped out of bed just to run, trying to escape the invisible monsters that roared in his ears before the sun came up. 

No matter how long he knew Hunk, that fear was so far ingrained in him that his response was second nature. He heard zombie, in that second, and in that second, such an inhuman growl like that meant _death._

Hunk’s shoulders hunched, and he gave Keith a guilty look. Hunk didn’t like the responses his body made. The bristling and the growling made him feel like an animal- and he wasn’t an animal. Or, he tried not to be. At his core, Hunk knew he was a lost cause- but he tried to be as good as he could be for his friends. And growling at them, over pills, was not good in Hunk’s book. 

Keith’s guilt increased ten fold when Hunk hunched his shoulders and looked back at him with a look not unlike a kicked puppy. Keith didn't like the response _his_ body made either. He _knew_ Hunk's ears were sensitive, and therefore he _knew_ he was just reacting to the harsh rattle of pills and bottles clattering on the counter. He _knew_ the snarl was not aimed at him, that Hunk wasn't aggressive, but defensive and trying to block out the offending sound. He knew all this, and yet still, Keith had reacted as if his friend was a threat. 

“Sorry.” Hunk mumbled. He dropped his hands, and tested his ears. They were ringing a little, making his head throb, but it wasn’t the end of the world. 

"Me too," he murmured as he finally pulled his hand away from his belt and looked away with pursed lips, ashamed and a little embarrassed.

From then on, Keith was much more gentle about rolling the bottles out of his bag. It took more finesse, which also meant it took more time; but he felt guilty for being so inconsiderate and ignorant to begin with. In his own way, trying not to make as much noise as he rolled the pills on to the counter was his way of trying to make up for it.

“Anyway,” Hunk continued, trying to brush their little encounter under the metaphorical rug as best he could, “I can open the bottles.” It made a good distraction- and now that his instinctive flinch was done, Hunk could tough out the rest of the noise.

It did make for a good reason for them to consolidate though. If the rattling bothered Hunk that much, it would bring a horde down upon their heads faster than crows upon a corpse.

To Keith, it sounded like a good plan. And certainly one that, while it may be a tiny bit time consuming, would certainly be less time consuming than shoving cotton balls in little bottles. Especially when Keith wouldn't have been able to help Hunk and Lance to make the job easier. 

Just thinking about his arm made his arm sting. Keith frowned, wincing as he tried to ward off the coming agony, and grunting quietly as his lips pursed together in a thin line. "If we find pain meds..." He murmured so Lance wouldn't hear, but didn't finish. He didn't think he had to.

Hunk’s gaze softened just a little at Keith’s pain, and he nodded. “I’ll keep my eye out, okay? You just bring me the bottles, and I’ll let you know the first chance I find something safe for you to take while we’re out here.” He promised.

Keith wasn't normally one to admit he was in pain. Hunk and him were similar in that way, choosing to hide it from their friends for very different reasons. Hunk because he didn't want to worry them, Keith because he was unused to asking for help. He had spent a lot of his time alone before finding Atlas, and then Altea. And those old habits formed from childhood were sometimes hard to break. 

It was easy to admit it to Hunk though, to be vulnerable with the man who had seen him in pain and bloody beyond all recognition and cleaned him up far more times than he could count. It was easier to admit that he was reaching his limit on how much more of this he could take. 

Keith only spared a tired glance at Hunk, before he threw his mind into working. It was the only real way to keep the pain and the overwhelming stench of this place from taking over. He grabbed his bag again and went back down the aisles, using it like his out of commission arm to fill it and cart it back an ‘armful’ at a time.

Hunk watched Keith in between checking bottles and dosages, hiding his own winces when he had to dump one bottle into another. Pills were loud, painfully so. His pain couldn’t be nullified though- but Keith’s could, if they could find the right medication. They didn’t need Keith overworking himself, though Hunk was no stranger to Keith’s methods of compartmentalizing.

Hiding pain was easier when you distracted yourself. It was how Hunk managed his constant hunger- he kept himself busy. If he sat and lingered on it, it got to be almost agonizingly painful, the feeling of his stomach wanting to devour itself because he refused to put human flesh into it.

It was a tedious job. Keith continued back and forth, going methodically through each aisle. Starting with the A's, and grabbing things like Acetaminophen- whatever that was- and working his way through the alphabet. Some bottles, like the Carsiprodol, were huge, with what looked to read five hundred tablets on the worn out labels. Other's, like the medroxyprednisolone, came in only bottles of thirty. Keith wasn't sure what any of them were for, or what they did, but he grabbed them all anyway, and all the bottles behind them, handing them to Hunk to consolidate and pack away.

Finally he made it to the Z's, though there wasn't much. He brought back the last bag and carefully dumped the remaining bottles, and then shifted it, placing it next to Hunk's own over stuffed bag so he could start packing his up too. Regardless of what Hunk thought, Keith was prepared to help carry as many bottles as he had too. Hunk was good as their pack mule, for sure, but he wasn't about to use and abuse his friend. They came out together, and he was going to pull his weight. Otherwise, he truly was nothing more than a liability. 

Job done, Keith couldn't help but shrink, grunting as leaned against the counter, bangs slightly covering his eyes. His headache and swelling arm was getting the best of him now. He really needed to sit.

Hunk kept an eye out for pain pills, checking each load. But pain pills were usually the first thing anyone looted- there was little chance of there being generic ones here. Tylenol was an over the counter medication- and if it was going to be found, it would have been out with Lance, and likely looted already. Generic ones were the safer ones to take during the apocalypse, when one needed all of their wits about them.

Hunk wasn’t a master pharmacist by any means. Pharmaceuticals hadn’t been what he’d been going to school for, but he’d done his stints here and there in the hospital, and he made friends everywhere where he had worked- Hunk knew enough to get by, once, and even more now that all he could do to stave off insanity was drink in more knowledge until eventually he was lost to his disease.

That being said, he did know some of the other pain meds that they came across. Some of them he specifically did not tell Keith they had. Keith did not need to take Oxycodone while they were out in zombie infested territory. Everyone reacted to it differently, but Keith needed to be aware of his surroundings. The one time Hunk had taken it when one of his college friends had said it would help with his pulled shoulder, he had remembered about an hour after, and then he ‘came to’, so to speak, sometime later the next day.

Lance remembered the incident well. Apparently drugged Hunk didn’t like clothing, and it had been a challenge on all of their parts to keep the large Samoan from streaking down the dorms in his birthday suit.

Keith did not need Oxycodone.

Keith also likely did not need the Vicodin he found either. It was a frank surprise that there was even still some there. Vicodin was a well known pain pill, and, Hunk thought, but there also were a lot of people who couldn’t take it without eating, and some who it affected like Oxycodone did Hunk. And, out in the open where they were, there was not a whole lot of food guaranteed to be anywhere anymore, or safe places to ride out a ‘pill high’.

With Vicodin and Oxycodone out of the picture, there were far fewer options. There was exactly one bottle of Acetaminophen so far, likely left behind by people who had no idea that Acetaminophen was just the technical name for Tylenol, and another two bottles of Advil. However, the Acetaminophen was going to be needed to manage fevers in children back at Altea, and the Advil was a blood thinner.

The minor concussion Keith had made Advil a likely bad idea, on top of the stitches. Keith did not need to bleed more- not out where it couldn’t be monitored safely.

However, the literal bag load of Tramadol that Keith brought him wasn’t nearly as bad. Hunk’s mother had taken it for migraines, and it had helped for general pain too. Which was good too, because Hunk couldn’t get this one last Tramadol pill to fit into the damned bottle.

He capped it, and tossed it into his rapidly filling bag. Stuffed pill bottles weighed significantly more than ones filled with empty air space. There was no way that Keith and Lance were going to be able to help carry the meds- not with their respective injuries. But that was fine- that was what Hunk was there for. Carrying things, and making sure that his friends got home alive.

“Keith,” Hunk called softly, “I’ve got a pain pill. It’s called Tramadol- it’s more of a migraine pill, but it also works for general pain too. I’ve got stronger stuff in the bag, but it’s not really safe to risk giving you that while we’re in the heart of dangerous territory. But, tonight, once we’ve holed up somewhere safe and you can sleep it off, I can give you half a Vicodin if you want to take it.”

When Hunk called his name, Keith reached out to take the pill from him without even a second thought. He didn't even care what it was, or what it was called, or what it did. He tossed it into the back of his mouth and swallowed it in act that was entirely desperate. He didn't even take the time to grasp the canteen on his hip for water to wash it down. Not that he could have unscrewed it on his own to begin with.

Fuck, was he grateful they had Hunk to look out for him. He could think about what was best while Keith seemed unable to keep his head on straight now that the pain had reached a level he couldn't shrug off. "Yeah, later. Thanks, Hunk," he replied, voice soft, giving his friend a slight tug of his lips. 

Hunk met Keith’s small smile with one of his own, and started shuffling pill weights around once he had everything possible bottled. They might not need Metformin, but there could be someone out there who wanted it in trade for something that they did need. Collecting things one didn’t need was part of having a supply of items for trade between communities and those strangers who wander through.

“No problem, Keith.” Hunk hummed softly. He did have to give a small mostly hidden grimace though. Dry swallowing pills wasn’t something he’d done ever, and Hunk had a notoriously sensitive gag reflex. If he could taste a pill, it had him heaving. And now that he could smell them so intensely, just the thought of what they tasted like was enough to make him pseudo queasy. “You can take one every four to six hours. But my watch broke a while ago, so…” It was around noon, and by the time they’d stop for the night, Keith would likely be ready for something stronger.

Keith’s brows furrowed. "We should give one to Lance too," he murmured almost as an afterthought. "I don't think he'll make the trip back on that leg without one." After all, the Cuban had been in a lot of pain too, and like Keith, he probably wouldn't want to admit it in front of others.

Though, he had suspicion that had more to do with his and Lance's pretend rivalry than it did any other underlying reason.

“You’re right.” Hunk agreed. “We’ll get him one before we go.” He kept one bottle of Tramadol out where he could easily access it, and then shoved his full pack onto his shoulders. Keith’s was still mostly empty, as Hunk’s had the bulk of the pills shoved in it, so Hunk took the time to go gather syringes and tubing and needles, and pack Keith’s backpack with that.

Keith couldn’t fuss over a full bag, even if it wasn’t as heavy as Hunk’s was.

Slowly Keith dragged himself off the counter to peer around the consultation window a second time. He took a breath, before putting on a face; one of mock annoyance as he peered through the gloom and tried to find his friend. 

Another thought occurred to him. His friend had been pretty quiet for a while. Honestly, Lance had better have found something good, or else he was going to really kick his ass for making him and Hunk do all the work while he went and took a nap somewhere. 

"Lance, what the hell are you doing? We need you to help us back here," he called.

Lance didn’t answer for a worryingly long number of seconds when Keith called for him. The silence stretched on- and Lance still did not answer.

Hunk finished tucking the last of the tubing so tightly into Keith’s bag that it might as well have been a can of spring loaded crinkle snakes, and then shuffled back over to the door out to the main part of the pharmacy. He poked his head out, and sucked in a breath, choking on a cough as he tried to sort through the smells.

“I don’t smell his blood...” Hunk finally settled on, which was about as good as he was going to get with his eyes burning from the stench clogging his nose.

There were a few beats of silence before Keith worriedly glanced back at Hunk. His hand went to his belt, unhooking the dagger his mother had gifted him, slowly starting to pull it from the sheath as Hunk joined his side. He strained his senses; trying to listen through the deafening silence. 

An image flashed before his eyes, one he hadn't thought about in a long time. It was a dark memory similar to this when he was younger. He didn't think he could bare a repeat of crunching bones, of the gross squelching sounds of hands tearing into skin and organs. Not _again_. 

His breath was shaky, heart in his throat and fingers trembling. Lance had to be okay. He was watching the door right? The zombies couldn't have gotten in or taken him by surprise. They would have heard and seen it. Right? Lance was just an idiot who probably knocked himself out somehow. That _had_ to be it. 

Keith swallowed, his fear palpable as he struggled to find his voice. "That... That doesn't mean he isn't hurt..." Keith couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from the shelves. His fingers finally closing around the handle of his dagger as he started to move. A restlessness born of fear driving him to go find Lance. "Hunk, we have to split up and look for him before-"

He was interrupted by the head of dark hair suddenly popping up from between the aisles.

The hobbling Cuban popped up from behind one of the rows of shelves, his bag heavy with looted supplies. There was still a little bit of space for if they needed him to carry more from inside the pharmacy proper, but it was still loaded with plenty of things they could use or trade to the other colonies.

Briefly, as Keith lowered his hand from his belt, he was relieved. He came to a halt beside Hunk and felt the fear rush out of him so quickly that he almost staggered. A fond sigh slipped through his lips that only Hunk, who was standing so close to Keith, could hear. 

It very quickly turned to anger, however. "Lance, what the _hell!?_ " He hissed- and then his eyes dropped down to the bulge in his jacket, and his voice became a slightly less angry, and far more alarmed. "Seriously, _what_ the hell?"

His coat was swollen outwards, and he was cooing gently into it as he tickled his fingers inside. His hand was cupping the bottom of something.

“Sorry, sorry- I didn’t mean to spook you guys. I got a buncha stuff that folks just overlooked, and then I found this little gem.” He unzipped his coat a little, and a tiny gray head peeked out at them with big green eyes. There was a flash of color around it- some sort of faded pink straps, which looked to be tied somewhere to Lance’s belt.

Thank god it was just a kitten, and Lance hadn't snapped and picked up some rat to parade back to them. And considering animals had become so rare since the fall of humankind, Keith's concern really wasn't that far fetched. It seemed the only animals they ever saw these days, save the ones living back on Altea, were the scavengers who could live off human waste, like rats, and the vultures and crows that pecked at the open buffet of the dead. 

The kitten’s eyes went round, like large glimmering emeralds. 

He met those little green eyes, and for a moment, Keith was stupefied, staring at the kitten as if he had never seen a cat before. His look was one complete and utter disbelief. The last time had seen a cat had been when he was small. The memory came without his permission, of the older woman who was kind enough to let him come over and play with her cat, Periwinkle, while his Dad was at work. It was so _vivid_ \- it felt unreal, like it had been a scene in a movie and not his real life. It was like a little spark of light that was faded around the edges, and surrounded by the darkness that consumed his existence they day the apocalypse killed his father. 

"Wow," he heard himself mutter. Absentmindedly, he reached out, as if to touch gray fur. And he was hissed at, making him draw his hand back just as quickly, furrowing his brows, but still in so much disbelief that he wasn't upset.

The kitten burrowed deeper into Lance, and Lance looked entirely too happy that the kitten had hissed at what he was pretty sure had been Keith. The Cuban man zipped his coat back up with a little coo to his tiny furry cargo.

It made sense cats were still around. After all, the zombies did not eat animals, and rats were in abundance around cities. Keith just thought they had died out with the majority of humans stopped taking care of them. Turns out, he misunderstood the felines reclusive tendencies. They were not going extinct, but instead, were probably so frightened by the dead that they even avoiding the living. Most of them were likely returning to their wild instincts and avoiding anything human at all costs. 

“This is Princess.” Lance beamed. “I’m gonna take her back to Allura, and then we’ll have a cat. Which means you can stop hunting the rats that try to move in, Hunk.”

Hunk eyed Lance dubiously, and exhaled sharply. “Only you would find a kitten in this god forsaken place. It’s probably never even seen a human before.” A living one, at least. “How did we not hear it shrieking? And how are you gonna keep her from running away?”

Keith's expression seemed to fall. "She was probably too scared to make a sound," he muttered.

The image of the little scraggly ball of fur huddled and shivering all alone broke his heart. 

“I’m a ladies man, of course.” Lance sniffed. “I have a skill and charm unlike any other man you’ve ever met. She couldn’t help but swoon before me- also a chihuahua harness from the pet section is an amazing thing for kittens. I found a super cute one in pink! Well, it might have been red, but-”

Though, Keith’s empathy regarding the little bulge in Lance's coat quickly turned into a flat look as violet eyes lifted to Lance's face. Ladies man his _ass_. He snorted loudly in his disagreement. "It's probably because you smell like fish," he remarked.

Lance made an offended noise. “ _¡Bésame el trasero!_ ”

Hunk would _not_ call it skill and charm, but he would let Lance think what he thought. “And you’re sure Princess isn’t a Prince?” Hunk ran his hand over his face with a sigh, and did his best to prevent the two of them from arguing again. He wasn’t gonna tell Lance no- Hunk hated hunting mice and rats. Sitting still for hours might have been a skill he possessed, but it made him hurt after.

“I _do_ know what a penis looks like, Hunk.” The Cuban rolled his eyes. “Even a teeny tiny furry cock and balls. Princess doesn’t have that. She’s got her little fuzzy lady parts, and she didn’t appreciate being sexed- that’s how you know she’s a lady. No lady likes their skirt lifted- oh! I even found some cute pet clothes here! And yes, I took them, and fuck you if you tell me to take them out of the bag.”

When his two friends started talking about fuzzy cocks and balls, Keith was moving away immediately, sighing hard and completely disinterested in where _that_ was leading up to. He didn't need to imagine cat dick, thank you very much. He moved towards the back to grab the bag Hunk had overfilled, and was silently grateful it was not so heavy he couldn't lift it with one hand and settle the bag on his shoulder.

Hunk held up his hands in a peaceful motion of surrender. “You want a cat, you can have a cat, pet clothes included.” It wasn’t like meager scraps of fabric really took up much space. “You’re gonna have to come out with me first chance you get though for hunting. Cat’s gonna have to eat elk and venison burger, and ground poultry when we can spare it, and we need more elk and venison before the herds move further north for better grazing. We’re just gonna have to add the cat-”

“ _Princess_ , Hunk,” Lance corrected, “her name is Princess.”

And Hunk, bless his soul, rolled with it because he was used to Lance’s oddities. After the apocalypse, they were all a little odd in their own ways anymore. Lance chopped up people to feed him, after all- Hunk could forgive his best friend for picking up a feral kitten. “We’ll have to add Princess to our rations list, and you’ll have to share with her until we get home.”

“I don’t mind.” Lance smiled.

Actually, speaking of fish, Keith tuned himself back into the conversation to add some helpful words. "I don't think we'll have to worry that much. Like Lance said, Princess will hunt down the rats when she’s big enough; which means more crops for us. And, worse come to worse, we can feed her whatever we catch in those nets by the river."

A little cat mouth wasn't too much of a responsibility to feed. Besides, he wasn't about to leave the poor thing alone here by herself, no matter what Hunk said. Had the larger Samoan disagreed, Keith would have debated in favor for Lance, and Princess would have been coming home to Altea regardless. 

“Good.” Hunk could work with that. Not a lot of the Altea residents enjoyed the fish they reeled in either- but fish was an acquired tasted. “Now, I’ve actually got a pain pill for you, Lance. C’mere- Tramadol should help with your leg, and then you’re gonna stop goofing off and let us finish stuffing your bag. We’ve gotta get out of here before the horde moves in- and you were clearly not watching the door.” Hunk crossed his arms, unable to keep the disapproving look off his face.

Lance clearly didn’t care about the look. His grin spoke measures of how not sorry he was as he hobble-strutted his way up the aisles and made his way into the room with them. However, when Hunk’s brow arched higher on his face, Lance heaved a sigh and let his look melt into something half-heatedly apologetic. 

Admittedly, Lance was more than a little used to Hunk being able to smell oncoming trouble before it got to them. He was easily distracted by things- such as salvageable supplies and kittens clearly- when he was trying not to focus on the pain in his leg.

Lance held out his hand, accepting the pain pill for his leg without a fuss.

Unlike Keith, Lance didn’t dry swallow it when he was handed it. He took the time to unscrew his canteen and take a good drink out of it to chase the pill down, and then swung his bag down over onto the counter for Hunk to begin filling. Which, his best friend didn’t hesitate to attack it with vengeance.

Lance watched in utter fascination at how tightly Hunk was packing the bag. “I didn’t think there was _that_ much space left in the bag.” He admitted, and offered his open canteen over to Keith. Lance wasn’t stupid- Keith couldn’t open his canteen one handed, and Hunk didn’t want Keith using his fingers unless he absolutely had to.

“There is _always_ more space, Lance.” Hunk tutted.

Keith returned to Lance's side, and gratefully accepted the open canteen he thoughtfully handed to him. He lifted it to his lips to drink, watching Hunk open Lance's bag and over stuff it with a vengeance. The more stuff they could gather the better, considering they wouldn't be able to go out for a long while now that Lance and Keith needed to heal. 

Lance leaned over to whisper to Keith, ignoring the tiny high pitched baby growl that Princess gave inside his jacket. His whisper was low and conspiratorial, never mind the fact that it was point blank in a silent room with a zombie who had super hearing. “One of his favorite games as a kid was Tetris, I swear.”

Keith lowered the canteen as Lance leaned over to him, swallowing, and brows rising slowly on his forehead.

“Actually,” Hunk grunted, fingers working a pack of syringes into a side pouch and then forcing the zipper closed when it clearly didn’t want to, “I hated Tetris. But I was good at grocery Tetris since we were a large family with a small car, and we loved food. This is _basically_ grocery Tetris, but on a smaller scale. I also was a one trip bag hauler, because fuck multiple trips and _stairs_.”

Okay, he knew it was supposed to be a joke. Lance had stage whispered it to him like Hunk wasn't supposed to hear it, which was stupid because of course Hunk would. It was an innocent one too, judging by Hunk's response, however... 

"Tetris?" Keith asked, looking between the two of them curiously.

Hunk’s head did one of those eerie inhumanly quick tilts that he very rarely permitted himself to do. Usually it came when something startled him, or when something unexpected happened and he wasn’t able to mitigate and manage his instinctive surprise or curiosity. His eyes were wide, staring at the two as his vigorous packing motions froze.

Like Hunk, Lance’s reaction was also one of surprise- but also more theatrical dramatics than necessary. He reeled back from Keith like Keith had hit him in the face with his elbow, and staggered like he’d been shot. He held a hand to his heart. “Be still my heart. Hunk- oh my god, Hunk, our little Keithy. He doesn’t know what Tetris is!”

Keith’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them, undeniably unsettled by Hunk’s inhumane motion after the growl from earlier. “… Should I know it…?”

Hunk couldn’t stop his bemused snort at Lance’s theatrics, but Lance’s shenanigans seemed to shake Hunk out of the creepy little stupor he had been settled in. He resumed packing. “I’m gonna tell Pidge you don’t know what Tetris is, because she can explain it better than either of us. I’m more of a Legend of Zelda fan myself, and Harvest Moon. Or- fuck, whatever it went to before the world ended. The originals were good, the new ones were shit. It became Story of Seasons, I think- good games, those.” Hunk had salvaged several copies, actually- but he didn’t want to charge the game systems on the power grid yet.

Not until he’d gotten a few more solar panels and gotten them safely implemented. He knew the handhelds worked just fine- he’d found them, scavenged them, from inside of their insulated and protective casing, along with their charging cords. He even had a Nintendo Switch- three of them, and a bundle of games- but again, keeping games charged was not high on priorities. Books and board games did not require electricity.

“It’s like Jenga,” Lance chimed. “Except you try to make the blocks fit, instead of making an architectural hellscape like what Pidge and Hunk do when they play _extreme_ Jenga for six hours straight.”

“ _Jenga._ ” The face Keith made said it all. “Enough said.”

One did not play Jenga with either Hunk or Pidge. Or Matt, actually. Matt found the game boring, but he’d schooled Lance in it after Lance had taunted him with being ‘too chicken’ to man up and play with him. The game got _frighteningly_ intense when Hunk and Pidge played, and it became literal hell when all three of them played. People usually, wisely, stayed away.

The noise Hunk made was _gloriously_ offended. “It wasn’t six hours!” He objected, stuffing the last of the supplies into the pack from the wall. “At best,” He continued as he did a quick double check, his eyes roving over walls and walls of now empty shelves, “it was maybe three hours.”

He hefted the heaviest of the packs up, and settled it on his shoulders. The other lighter one- much like the one Hunk had left for Keith- was handed over to Lance.

Lance accepted it with a haughty noise of bemusement,  s lipping the straps on and tightening them for safety’s sake, and clipping the bottom strap around his middle to help keep Princess from falling out of his coat if he had to bolt. He tightened it nicely. “I don’t know,  _ hermano _ . It sure felt like six hours. Maybe more.”

“You know what else is gonna feel like six hours, or ‘maybe more’?” Hunk remarked lightly.

Lance’s eyes squinted at him warily. “What?”

“ _ The walk home _ .”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting, folks. I try to get this out at midnight usually, and I kinda passed out last night. Anyway, onto Authors Notes!
> 
> So, for those of you who didn't notice, Humanity has a second part to it. If you want to know how Lance and Hunk got together, please check out 'Is It Our Empathy?' and let me know what you think!
> 
> Now, for this chapter, it covers a heavy topic- and some chaos. And should leave you all with a delightful cliffhanger until next week :)
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "Which is worse- dog drool, or cat drool?"
> 
> Strider answer: Cat drool for me. Dog slobber is undeniably nasty, but I have cats who drool when they're happy, and are happiest when spooning my face, so I end up with feline saliva rolling down my cheek or my forehead depending on how tightly I'm being spooned. It is NASTEHH.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "Out of all the chapters so far, what is your favorite quote from WMUH? It can be anything- from Lance's humor, to Pidge's snark, or Hunk's dry wit."

“ Well.” Lance whispered, his back pressed against the  wall of a house as they waited for the smaller horde at the end of the street to migrate onward  to another block .  The shifting of his weight made him wince, his leg throbbing even if the pain pill had made it hurt less. Having it stomped on accidentally sort of voided any pain pill effects. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined the walk home was going to go. You were right though, Hunk, it  _ definitely _ feels longer than six hours.”

On the way to the pharmacy,  they all  had been almost undisturbed. Their walk had been easy, their path rocky  with city debris they had to avoid lest they make noise and draw a horde to them, but relatively unbothered and they hadn’t had to drop a single zombie on their entire trip since they’d left the library.

The way back was a little less simple.

They’d made it a little ways back, when the cloud of crows and vultures in the sky had shifted almost suddenly. The cloud of swarming scavenger birds was almost an apocalyptic sign in itself- it meant one thing, and one thing only. The mega horde was migrating- the birds were a sure sign of them coming, even better than Hunk’s nose.

It drove the trio to backtrack hard, and to take a longer, slightly more dangerous path around the incoming horde.  It was more or less ‘horde’ country, so to speak. No jumbo or mega hordes, but there were no groups of zombies in numbers less than thirty.  The large numbers of zombies all congregated together stunk up whole neighborhoods in massive blocks, and it made it hard for Hunk to determine their location by smell, so they were having to go off of sight and hearing.

They’d come face to face with stragglers hiding their scents in dilapidated back alleys, which Hunk had quickly and quietly dispatched, despite being laden down with not only the books he’d requisitioned from the library, but also the bag load of pills that they had consolidated  at the pharmacy. He’d eventually moved them off his shoulders and to a more easily shed position, so he could drop them when he needed to handle threats.

It made them more cumbersome, but it was better than the chance of anything getting damaged by tussling zombies.

Which, became more and more frequent as they ran into stragglers,  which cost them precious sunlight.

Eventually, they had very nearly went to cross a street at the _ same  _ time a passing horde had.

Hunk- who had been the first one to step out, as per the norm for their city traveling- had backed them up so fast he’d stepped on Lance’s bad foot, and had to use his forearm to muffle the Cuban’s automatic cry of pain.

The instant Lance began to shout, Keith leaped foreword too, gripping Lance's shoulder tight, almost as if to steady him, as Hunk smothered his noise with his arm. Intense violet eyes were left gazing into sapphire in a quiet command to _shut up!_ It was harsh, but not unkind. 

He lifted his gaze from Lance once he was sure the other understood, before flipping it to Hunk, watching his tense frame with bated breath. Keith had been doing the same since the birds. Night was falling, while Lance and him, despite the relief from medication, were still healing and therefore exhausted and useless. Their senses couldn't really be trusted, no matter how hard they tried to stay alert. So, he put his faith in his friend to guide them through.

The tall Samoan was peering subtly around the corner, his body still and tensed for combat.  He’d been tense from the moment they’d had to divert their path, his body taut like a  beast on the prowl.

Hunk didn’t reply to Lance- he was watching intently, waiting. And, eventually, he let out a long breath as he watched the last of them go away. “They’re gone.” He said lightly, finally shifting his back off the wall and lifting his burden back up into his arms. “Come on- lets head down this street for a little bit. If we head left at Thorn, we _ should  _ be able to hit Pine in three blocks, and Pine is a straight shot back out of this hellhole.”

Keith had almost been as still as Hunk. Never quite as inhuman, since he still needed to breathe, but close to it. Keith was like a wild thing waiting in the grass as still as a stone until Hunk determined the coast was clear. Finally, he exhaled, and slowly pulled his hand from Lance's shoulder and stepped back. 

Hunk had a good plan. At least, better then all the back tracking they've been doing since leaving the pharmacy. Keith was sick of that, and, he wasn't sure of how much longer Lance could walk before they would have to stop. "Hopefully there won't be too many stragglers once we get there," Keith agreed. 

Lance leaned off the wall, and he hobbled with a lowly muttered curse in Spanish. 

There was a moment where Keith watched Lance with badly concealed concern as he cursed under his breath and tested his foot. Keith, of course, was in pain as well, but he didn't have to use his arm like Lance was using his leg. His arm, though throbbing, wasn't going to get worse as long as he didn't move it. Lance, however... 

Lance rolled his ankle, and then powered on even with pain making his brows pinch. “When we get home, you owe me a foot rub.” He huffed at Hunk. “You and your big guerrilla feet stepped on me.”

That sympathy dried up, and Keith abandoned that train of thought just as soon as Lance started to complain, scoffing loudly and turning his back on the other. A Lance that could complain was a Lance who was _fine_.

Hunk peered back over his shoulder at him as he stepped out, taking a slow pace- for the sake of both of the injured following him- down the empty and overgrown street. “Would you rather be stepped on or eaten?”

“I mean,” Lance quirked a brow, gently shifting Princess through his coat, “being stepped on might be some people’s kinks, but not mine. I do enjoy being ‘eaten’ by a good set of lips, but definitely _ not  _ in the way you’re meaning, Hunk. Though, you do have some of the plumpest lips- you’d probably make someone really happy. Maybe that cute blond…?” He wiggled his brows. “Romelle is her name, right? She seems to like you.”

Shifting the strap on his back, Keith started after Hunk. His friends went on a tangent that Keith really didn't care about. Not that he ever really minded. It was nice to just listen as Hunk and Lance babbled on about nonsense. It helped, sometimes, to calm his nerves, displaced his mind from his anxieties, and the stress of knowing soon it would be dark, or at any moment the horde could catch scent of him and Lance and turn around. 

And, most importantly, it made things feel normal again. As if they were just three friends going to the movies and enjoying each others company instead of risking their lives scavenging in an apocalypse, even if everything Lance said was mostly _ridiculous_ nonsense.

Keith was happy listening, and standing off to the side and observing them. Of course, it never lasted long. Not when Lance decided he needed a bigger audience for his shenanigans. 

Hunk blushed, his dark skin coloring black like a bruise, and he lifted an arm to run his hand through his hair as it ruffled up along the back of his neck.  He kept his eyes on the look out, even though he wanted to watch his feet. Lance meant well, but Hunk couldn’t- he was  _ dead _ . He couldn’t ever be anything for Romelle, not like any of the other men at Altea.  “Lance,” He huffed, “Come on.  That’s not funny. You know I can’t, right? Besides, is this really the time to tease me about a new  _ friend _ ?”

“Any time is the time to tease my friends.” Lance reassured him. “And I dunno. You might be able to.” Lance gave him a cheeky grin, his hobble not stopping his bemused strut. “What do you think, Keith? Is Hunk still date worthy material? That Romelle seemed to like him- I heard from Pidge that she sat with him while he ate. Like, actually sat with him and didn’t panic!”

Keith made a face. "I'm not gay, Lance." Not that he would be offended if Hunk found him attractive or anything. He didn't mean it that way. He wasn't attracted to men, and therefore, in an objective sense, he didn't think of Hunk as date-able.

“Dude, you don’t _have_ to be gay to know if another guy is date material or not. Like- between Rolo and Hunk- the choice is damn clear, isn’t it?” Lance arched his brows at Keith, though it was more or less a rhetorical question.

Rolo was a handsome guy, and charismatic, like Lance. The problem was, the well known Olkarion resident was basically a snake. Everyone knew it- he’d been some sort of lowlife before the apocalypse happened, and items went missing when Rolo was around. Hunk didn’t like him- and that spoke _measures,_ because Hunk liked everyone generally.

Hunk was good at tracking down the item thief though and getting items back. Rolo didn’t like Hunk either.

"I wouldn't date either of them," Keith replied, clearly misunderstanding Lance's point. He _also_ didn't get what Lance was getting at- not completely. "And, _yeah_. Hunk saved Romelle’s life. Of course she likes him," He replied lightly. 

Honestly, Keith felt bad for Hunk, seeing the color of his skin darken on his neck like the night sky. Yeah, he remembered when Lance used to tease him about girls before he got with Pidge. It was always annoying, _and_ embarrassing.

It was worse for Hunk though. Keith had chosen, for the longest time, to ignore the giggles of girls around him, because he _chose_ too. Hunk had to ignore it because he had no other option. He was a good guy, but he _was_ undead, and the risk of infection from being intimate was not worth entertaining any fantasies. At least the single women already avoided him out of fear at Altea, making his job easier. 

Though, Keith couldn't imagine how lonely it must be not having someone like how he had Pidge.

Still, Hunk was not alone at least. And seeing Romelle open up to Hunk like she did was a good step in Hunk becoming more widely accepted among the rest of the community. Perhaps, she would start a movement, and before long Hunk could join the table and eat with everyone and not be forced to take on the role of outcast. A role that Keith more than anyone understood how lonely and painful it could be.

"I think she feels like she owes him too," Keith replied, glancing at Lance. Not that he was trying to take the wind out of sails; he was just speaking honestly. "That's why she's working with Pidge to try and find Hunk alternatives to eat."

Lance balked at Keith, his mouth flapping open with a flabbergasted gape as he nearly missed his hobbling step and tripped. Lance, for once, didn’t know what to say- he honestly wasn’t sure how Keith could just come out and say it like that. But, his attention didn’t linger on Keith for long. His gaze slid over to Hunk, and seemed to settle there, watching.

Just as Keith hadn’t understood what Lance had meant, he didn't understand why Lance was looking at him the way he was. 

It wasn’t the wind out of _Lance’s_ sails that Keith stole.

Hunk’s shoulders slumped, the dark flush dying out on his face as he seemed to deflate. His gaze remained on the road, aware out of habitual need to keep his humans alive- but Hunk’s mind wandered to Keith’s words as his head drooped down.

It didn't occur to Keith, until he followed Lance's gaze to Hunk. As he watched Hunk, he realized the impact of his words, and that what he had just said had been unnecessarily brutal. 

He wasn't so inept at social cues that he didn't recognize when he had made a mistake, which in part, he had Pidge to thank for. She had very quickly taught him the importance of using tact when the first time he made her upset without thinking, he had been kicked out of bed for a week. And that hadn't even been the _worst_ part of it.

Guilt reared its ugly head, tasting bitter in his mouth as his brows furrowed. Keith watched as Lance fell out of step with him to reach Hunk. This was the part he wasn't good at; comforting. 

Swallowing, he looked away, tongue feeling heavy with words of apology that he knew he should say, but thinking that, perhaps, it might be best if he just kept it shut. After hurting Hunk, Keith thought the last person Hunk wanted to hear from was him. 

Keith, for all of his lack of tact when it came to human communication and graces, was generally good at observing reactions, and he was honest with what he thought about them. And, most of the time, Keith had good intuition about it too- he was rarely wrong about gut feelings regarding people. There was also the chance that Romelle had mentioned so, and Pidge had told him.

Hunk wanted to believe that Romelle was being his friend because she genuinely liked him and found him interesting- not because she felt she owed it to the monster who had saved her from an even more monstrous creature wearing a human skin. Hunk wanted to think that she liked him even though he was dead- but there was a part of him, the part of him that whispered his doubts, insecurities, and anxieties, that said very few would truly befriend a monster.

Either way, if Keith thought Romelle was under the impression that she owed Hunk, then it likely was very true. Hunk didn’t want her to feel like she owed him anything. She didn’t owe him anything- not a single thing. Not her attempts at trying to find him an alternative food source, or her sitting with him just because she was his friend and didn’t want him to be alone, and not her friendship if she didn’t want to be his friend. Friendship wasn’t something owed.

Hunk didn’t like people feeling like they owed him things- because they didn’t owe him anything. He did what he did because he wanted as many people to survive the apocalypse as possible- and that meant giving and giving until he had no more to give. That was his job- his _purpose_ in his life after death. He had to do some good with his cursed existence- and making sure good people survived was everything to him.

Hunk had already told Romelle that he didn’t have a future, and she’d been stark in her refusal of accepting his fate. Hunk knew he had one foot in the grave- she’d told him she didn’t think so. But Lance teasing him about her liking him, on top of Keith’s reminder that Romelle likely felt like she just owed him, it just reminded him not to have hope of anything _more_.

Hope was a stupidly easy thing to get- so, so easy, even if people said it wasn’t. Hope was an easy bloom seed, easily grown and nurtured by careful words and smiles, and a little effort here and there. Hope could even grow in a long dead heart like Hunk’s, where it fluttered like a bird in a cage. Hunk liked Romelle’s company- she was quirky, curious, and her blunt questions that always embarrassed her were refreshing in their frank curiosity. Hunk _liked_ her.

Heavens help him, Hunk _liked_ her. He liked her, liked her quirky little oddities, and liked her curious blunt questions- he liked her embarrassment, and her bravery in sitting with him even when she’d been terrified of him eating zombie flesh.

Hunk liked her- and Hunk couldn’t be with her.

Hope was just as easily crushed and squashed with a careless word here or there- especially when words got the mind thinking.

Hunk was a very soft and gentle man, despite the monster that he was. Words hurt- both the hurtful words from the people at Altea, and the accidentally stinging words from friends who didn’t _mean_ to hurt.

“Hunk,” Lance started, hobbling a few steps faster to set a hand on the Zombie’s shoulder, “ _hermano_ , he didn’t mean it like _that_. She likes you-”

“Lance.” Hunk said softly, a sigh ghosting past his lips as his eyes roved over the empty street, counting the blocks and checking the dilapidated street signs for the road they needed to turn on. “It’s not that- and even if it was, it’s fine. It’s… It’s good to be reminded every so often, I guess. Sometimes, even _I_ forget what I am.” 

He could walk and talk- and he had human reactions. He never forgot that he was always chilled, and that people were terrified of him just because of what he was, but sometimes, when he was sitting with them and talking, laughing and joking and feeling like himself- he _felt_ human. It was good to be reminded that he wasn’t- it would keep him from getting too hopeful for things he couldn’t have.

“Hunk,” Lance’s voice tightened in time with his hand, “you’re still you, and you don’t need to be reminded of anything. You’re more aware of what you are than any of us are on a general basis. So what if she feels like she owes you? On some small scale, most of us feel the same. You’ve saved our bacon more than once.”

The large zombie sighed. His fingers fussed with each other, a fiddling as they walked, and eventually he set them to worrying at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t want her to feel like she owes me anything, Lance. Or _any_ of you. I just...” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Lance, my only purpose anymore is to make sure you all survive for as long as I can. You know that, right?”

Lance made a face. “Hunk, that’s not your only purpose-”

“ _Yes_.” Hunk insisted, voice low. “It is. I had this discussion with Romelle a while ago. I’m _dead_ , Lance. Dead people don’t need the comforts of the living, nor can they be owed things.” It was why Hunk’s room only had books, and an uncomfortable cot instead of a bed like the rest of the rooms. He was dead- he didn’t need things like others did. “I _don’t_ have a future. I can’t- I can’t _have_ anyone. I can’t kiss anyone- I can’t give a lover _anything_. I can’t-” Hunk trailed off, muscles in his throat tightening. “Talia and Sione can’t ever become a thing.”

Lance released his shoulder, looking almost like Hunk had slapped him.

Back in college, Hunk and Lance had talked futures. Hunk had wanted a family- he’d wanted kids. A husband, a wife- he didn’t care who he fell in love with, but Hunk had wanted a family. Lance remembered the names they’d discussed too- Talia for a girl, and Sione for a boy. Lance had jokingly said he was going to be their god father, and he’d spoil them into right hellions for Hunk, much to Hunk’s bemused exasperation.

So many years, and Lance hadn’t ever really pondered that Hunk couldn’t have that anymore. Maybe he hadn’t _wanted_ to think about it. “Hunk,” He murmured. “I-”

“Living vicariously through you and Keith is one thing- it keeps life from being boring, but… Lance,” Hunk glanced back over his shoulder at the two following him, and his thick brows furrowed low over his eyes, “living vicariously is not the same as _actually_ having someone to have a future with. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tease me about Romelle anymore, okay? I can’t be with her- or _anyone_. I might not be rotting and in pieces, but I _can’t_ , not with anyone. Especially since eventually, there will come a time when you’ll have to make good on our deal. It wouldn’t be fair on a lover.”

Lance’s caramel skin paled, and he looked sick. His grip shifted on his shouldered pack and rifle, and he dropped a few paces back to stand near Keith. “Right.” He murmured. “Our deal.”

When there was no more food to eat except for good humans, when they found a cure or all of the zombies died out or something- Hunk would have to be put down. Hunk knew and accepted it. Lance knew and hated it. He hated it with every beat of his heart. It made him sick to remember he’d agreed to it- but a promise was a promise. If anyone was going to do it, they’d agreed it would be Lance, permitting that nothing happened.

Keith listened, and with every second, he felt worse and worse. He didn't think about it because he didn't _want_ too, but the harsh reality of what Hunk said was harrowing. Not being able to kiss, or love, or truly have a life... That was a _hard_ existence.

Hunk was a good friend and a hero. He deserved better, he truly did. And it was cruel that the universe had given such a sweet and helpful guy such a terrible fate. A fate that they all pretended wasn't there, but, in times like right now, when one stopped to think about it, it suffocated you with it's merciless and icy truth. 

Pidge had told Keith, when he accidentally upset her the first time, that sometimes it was better if he just kept the truth to himself. Perhaps this had been one of those times. 

Yet, somehow, someway, Hunk was _always_ able to bounce back. Keith didn't know how he did it, and, selfishly, he was a little relieved. At least, he hadn't made such a big mistake that Hunk would abandon him. Maybe, he should have been worried about Hunk's ability to stuff it all down and bounce back, but, it seemed to be a common trait among the survivors of the apocalypse. 

Given the circumstances, and the hordes distant growls and groans still within ear shot, they didn't really have a choice but to keep moving foreword.

“So no more teasing me about that, okay?” Hunk’s voice dropped, softening as he watched Lance’s face. Hunk didn’t want to hope for what he couldn’t have.

Lance nodded, lips puckering, and he dropped his gaze to the ground. “No teasing for now.” He couldn’t promise forever, because there was no such thing as a forever promise with Lance when it came to teasing. It was how he made light of things- but right now, the topic was a sore subject, clearly, and he wasn’t going to press on it.

The Cuban sighed as Hunk turned his attention back to guiding them through the dilapidated city, and he slid his fingers up to run them through his hair. He hissed as his fingers tangled in his hair.

His hiss caught Hunk’s attention again, and Hunk tilted his head. The slouch to his shoulders hadn’t squared out again, telltale that his mood was still sour, but Hunk still loved his friends even if they said unintentionally stinging things. 

“Leg bothering you?” He ventured, the change in subject something he was more comfortable with. That was the beautiful thing about having a best friend- when one was as close as Hunk and Lance were, even the brief verbal exchange wasn’t enough to keep them in hushed silence through the streets. “I’m sorry for stepping on you- but I didn’t want them to see me, and you have really small feet.”

Taking the offered olive branch, Lance made a mock scoff that he didn’t really feel, and glanced to the houses around them while he tried to remove the knots in his hair. “I don’t have small feet- my feet are perfectly normal sized. Yours are just huge, you big giant. Though, I wish it was just my leg. It does hurt, and I was serious about that massage.”

Keith offered a weak smile when his friends went back to the witty humor he was used to listening too, feeling some the tension in his shoulders fade. He let the moment pass like water over a ducks back.

"You're so needy," Keith remarked, his tone blank, but his lips betraying him; pulling up into a very tiny smile.

“When we’re safe tonight, you can have a massage.” The lit of humor in Hunk’s voice was better than the one of a man who knew he was already in his grave. It sounded more like Hunk.

“Good.” Lance sniffed. “Now my more immediate problem is the fact I need a new hair brush. The knots in my hair are driving me insane. Think any of these houses have any brushes we could snag?”

He turned his eyes towards the buildings around them. Combs and brushes were among those items people didn't think to grab when they were running for their lives. There were probably an abundance of them in each and every one. Sanitary items generally didn't take priority over weapons and food. 

"It might not be a bad idea to bring some back with us," Keith muttered thoughtfully, eyes falling on a little robin’s egg blue colored house. He knew Allura would especially appreciate a brush with her long white- blonde hair. 

Well, the house used to be robin's egg blue. Now it was worn down with dirt and mold, turning it into a plethora of different green and black hues where weather had chipped away at the paint. It was just like every other house on the street; slowly falling apart 

There was a trashcan next to the house that Keith could use to pull himself up the gutter and sneak inside the open window on the second floor. It would save more time time than breaking in, and Keith could do a quick sweep and then climb back out so they could be on their way. 

“It’d be an amazing idea to get some combs and hairbrushes for the adults.” Lance puffed his chest up a little bit. “There’s a shortage of grooming supplies at Altea, really. All of the gentle brushes are currently being used by the families with kids. Like, no joke, I had to spend two hours using that old comb that Allura got from Grandpa Ulaz to try and get the tangles out of Allura’s hair.”

Hunk visibly winced. “ _Ouuf_.” He made a noise of sympathy. Ulaz wasn’t old like Lance liked to imply, but Ulaz was _good_ at survival- and completely into making things on his own. Ulaz and his band- the Marmora- weren’t part of any officially settled territory, but they did a lot of caravan guarding and trading. Ulaz liked to scavenge and make things, like combs from nails or bladed weapons from shattered metal. “You mean the one he made using an unholy amount of scavenged nails?”

“ _Yesssss,_ ” Lance groaned, “You have no idea how much it sucks, Hunk. Your hair doesn’t really tangle anymore, but man, nails and ply wood do not make for a usable comb. I tore more hair out than I actually untangled.”

The larger zombie grimaced. He _did_ get knots, but they weren’t as common as Lance and Keith. It was a… He wasn’t sure. Another animal like aspect of what he was, he supposed- he didn’t have to comb constantly. His hair sort of fell into place. Though, when it knotted, it was usually a pretty nasty knot, bordering on being matted rather than knotted. It took a lot of conditioning to get the matted clumps to soften enough to brush out. 

Still, brushing his hair felt nice, and it made it easier to pull it up and out of his face if he had a brush or a comb to use.

Lance had a point. Ulaz's brushes, along with his other almost prehistoric inventions, were more likely to rip hair out then it was to untangle anything. Keith kept his hair long by choice like Hunk, but he wasn't lucky enough to have coarser almost-fur that was immune to knots like his undead friend. He had to suffer much the same as Allura when he dragged nails through his mullet. 

If it weren't for the fact it gave him some sense of normalcy, he wouldn't have touched the medieval torture device Ulaz brought with him to trade. The memory of the pain caused by the homemade brushes he had used before coming out here with Lance and Hunk had _him_ cringing. 

If that wasn't decision enough…

Hunk glanced up at the buildings, his brows furrowing in thought. “We don’t really have more space in our packs for a whole lot of brushes or combs. As much as I want to bring everyone some comfort items, medical items are more important than a bag full of hairbrushes.”

A strange shiver ran down Keith's spine, and he turned his head, catching a glimpse of silver and white. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he dropped his good hand down to his belt, fingers lightly holding on to the handle of his blade even if he couldn’t use it.

Lance shifted the moment that Keith’s hand slid down to his blade, and his rifle was in his hands moments later. His eyes darted around, but he didn’t see what Keith had seen.

It was not the first time Keith had seen it. He had thought, maybe, it was a trick of the light. Especially since Hunk, with his extra senses, for sure would have heard or smelled whatever is was that was on their tail. Now, however, he was unsure. 

"Uh, Hunk...?" He turned his violet gaze towards his friend. "I think there is something following us."

Hunk stilled as Keith spoke, and his brows furrowed. He glanced behind them, but he wasn’t able to see what Keith had seen. So, he stopped moving, rolling his shoulders as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Hunk took several huffing breaths, sorting through the stink of rot, decay, and what his dead side screamed was ‘food’.

Over the stink of rotting wood, decaying paint, rust, new growth of plants, and, of course, the forever lingering smell of decaying dead human flesh, Hunk could smell animals. 

The smell of cat was closest- Princess lingering in Lance’s coat was a scent that mingled with Lance’s, diminishing the immediate smell of food, oddly enough. The dirty kitten still smelled of the moldy pharmacy, but also heavily of young feline- and it was boggling enough to his nose to keep his mind from immediately leaping to ‘food’ when regarding Lance’s scent.

Above the closest smell of cat, Hunk could smell rats, and several scavenging ‘trash pandas’, as Lance liked to name the wild raccoons that tried to thieve from Altea. He could also smell opossums, and, below that, the dry and chalky smell of bird. Below all of that, he could smell the less numerable dog population.

Which, his nose told him, was what was closest to them.

“It’s a dog.” Hunk said, rubbing his nose against his shoulder. Parceling through scents that deeply made his head buzz. 

"Dog?" Keith repeated, looking back out over the ghost town. Though, the little hint of excitement didn't last for long.

“So long as we don’t get too close, we should be okay.” Hunk nodded. “It’s probably curious- we’ll leave it be, and just continue on our way. We do need to watch Princess though- the dog might be smelling her, and be looking for easy prey.”

Lance tensed, and his hand cupped the bulge in his coat. He made an offended noise. “No mangy pooch is gonna eat Princess.” He huffed. “Not my fluffy baby.” His coat made a tiny growl at the jostling, but it was marginally less offended than it had been before.

“You’ve got her harnessed to your hip, so I think she’s fine. We just need to mostly watch you, actually. You’ve got a visible limp.” Hunk hummed.

“And what does that mean?” Lance shouldered his rifle again with a grumbling sigh.

Their friendly zombie tilted his head and gave them an inhuman sounding chuff. He tilted his head, his hair ruffling. “You limp, _hermano_. Keith’s wound is in his arm. From a predatory standpoint, you’re the easy prey. And that’s coming from _me_ \- the one with the brain hardwired for spotting weakness for hunting.”

The Cuban made a face, clearly offended that he was the easy prey. “Well, tell your zombie brain to stuff a sock in it. I got molested by a shambler- I’m not gonna get my leg viciously humped by a wild Fido, okay? A man can only handle so much unwanted sexual contact.”

Hunk had to muffle his snort of laughter, turning his gaze away so he didn’t offend Lance even more. 

Lance's attempt to turn the situation into a joke did not sit well with Keith. He pursed his lips, scanning the asphalt behind them for a flash of silver fur a second time. Hunk was right, Lance and him were injured, and therefore would make easy prey. Except, where Lance couldn't run, he could still use the evolutionary advantage that had, before the apocalypse, put humans on top of the world; _hands._

Keith couldn't use both hands, and his skin began to crawl. If he couldn't wield his sword, he was useless. And he doubted his dagger would do much damage to a hungry dog looking to pin him down. Like everyone on Altea, he could use a gun, but he couldn't aim like Lance, or the others. Besides, he still needed his other hand to brace for the knock back. 

His strength was in his sword, and to have it taken from him only served as a brutal reminder of how useless he was to his group right now. Keith did not want to meet his end as dog chow for a mongrel desperate enough for food that it was hunting humans.

Keith turned his head back towards the house he had spotted before. He could get in and out quick, broken arm or not. He could _prove_ he wasn't useless prey. 

Hunk was listening to the sound of a horde coming closer, making his scalp bristle. “Okay, okay. Well- back on topic. Brushes is probably a bad idea. These houses are all likely locked, and there’s no telling what the condition inside is like- and it’d take too long to go from house to house to get brushes for everyone back at Altea. Plus, we’ve got a horde coming closer. We gotta go.”

Lance groaned. “But I want a brush, dammit. My hair is also suffering under Ulaz’s handmade death traps.”

Grasping the shoulder strap on his shoulder, Keith made his way past Hunk and Lance, boots striding across the ground with purpose.

“Laaaaance, whining is not befitting a man your age.” Hunk reminded his best friend lightly. “How about we get you a brush next ti- Keith? Keith, _where_ are you going?”

Hunk called out to him, but Keith didn't answer. He made sure the bag was tight on his back, before he made it to the garbage can positioned just so under the gutter of his target. 

Grasping on to the garbage can lid, Keith heaved himself up. He tried to focus on balancing without the use of his broken arm as he reached for the gutter. He tested it, pulling on it and ignoring the cold sludge of leaves and mud overflowing from them. The rotten wood shifted dubiously, but it held strong. 

Despite being in need of a _long_ overdue cleaning, Keith thought it would support his weight. So, he hauled himself up.

It took a lot more effort then he anticipated. He couldn't balance himself with one arm, and he fell foreword, collapsing on his broken arm and stifling a yelp by biting the inside of his cheek. Finger nails scraping moldy shingles as he pulled himself until he could swing his knee over the edge, he huffed as he rolled on to his back, panting lightly and left shoulder aching from being overworked. 

Keith had to blink spots out of his vision.

Fuck, he was grateful for the pain meds. That probably would have hurt far worse if Hunk hadn't given him some prior. It kept his right arm from throbbing too much as he caught his breath.

Keith took a few more moments to gather himself, before pushing himself up. He brushed mold and dirt off himself before wandering towards the edge of the roof. When he glanced down at Lance from above, he gave him a smirk. "I'll get your stupid brush," he promised Lance.

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you just scrambled onto a roof like Yogi Bear chasing a lunch basket.” Lance’s voice was utterly deadpanned, but he looked like something between worried and excited about a new brush. Worried for Keith and his gimpy arm, clearly- but excited at the prospect of proper grooming.

It wasn't _just_ for Lance though. Keith knew he owed Hunk for what he said. Doing something stupid and reckless, like getting a few brushes and combs, was probably a dumb way to make it up to him, but Keith wasn't necessarily the one to stop and think before he decided to go ahead with his ideas. 

Still, the desire was there when those violet eyes met Hunk's from above. They glittered with a flash of guilt before they hardened into resolve. 

"Give me ten minutes," he told Hunk. "Then you can come up after me."

He didn't wait to hear what Hunk had to say, or to stop and let him argue. He pushed foreword, climbing his way up the slippery shingles and then sticking his head into the window. Checking that the coast was clear, he pulled his bag off his back and tossed it in first. He followed after, grabbing hold of the window with his good hand for purchase, and then sliding in feet first.

The room was dark. Keith picked up his bag and squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light as he pulled his bag back on to his shoulder. And then, cautiously, he pulled his dagger from his belt, the soft sound of metal dragging against leather sounding loud in the quiet. 

He was in a bedroom. A child's bedroom, judging by the size of the bed, and the decor of faded yellow flowers that decorated the walls. Keith frowned as he moved foreword, carefully overstepping stuffed animals and dolls that had been forgotten and left to rot on the floor. 

His senses strained in the silence. There was nothing but the creaking of wood under his boots. The smell of mold and rotting wood was overwhelming. 

His heart began to pound. 

Approaching the door covered in faded crayon and papers, he put the handle of the dagger in his mouth and slowly turned the door knob. 

His shoulders were wound up tight as he gently pushed open the door with his foot, moving the dagger back into his hand. Keeping his back to the wood as he peeked around and into the hall, trying to spot silhouettes of shamblers in the dark. He stood as still as a statue, watching and waiting. 

However, when there were no sounds of feet dragging on carpet, or the soft idle groans and growls of zombies lying dormant, he finally crept out into the hall. 

It wasn't often they found a house devoid of shamblers. Keith considered himself lucky. 

Still, he played it safe. Creeping down the hall and heading for the stairs on feather light feet. There were a couple more rooms, the doors ajar enough for him to peek through. He saw the bed posts in the streams of light and dust from the windows, however, and by passed them instead. What he was looking for wouldn't be in there.

As he made his way, his eyes caught the golden frame of a picture. He paused long enough to study the family inside of it. 

Three little girls and a wife with a lovely smile, and a young man who couldn't be happier, posing together. There were more too, Christmas photos of them all gathered around a tree, some of the three children separately and smiling or playing. A faded picture in a shattered frame of a wedding arch and the parents kissing, rice sprinkled like snow around them.

Idly, Keith wondered, where they went. What happened to them? He wondered if they were still together. If the cruel world had ripped them and their happy little family apart... 

It hurt, seeing these pictures. Being reminded of what had used to be was never easy for anyone. Keith swallowed and finally turned away, resuming his mission. 

There was a soft sound, and Keith jerked around, lurching away from the top of the stairs to stare at the door he had just passed. His heart gave a heavy thump against his chest, and he gripped the dagger tighter. Stepping back, he took slow and careful steps, approaching the door as slow as a crouched lion, slow and wary as he tracked his prey.

There were more sounds, muffled at first, but becoming clearer. Until he was only a few feet away, and he could finally make them out. 

The tell tale growls of the undead. 

_ Shit...  _

Keith almost thought about walking away, but the door was ajar, like the others. Somehow he had missed the zombie in there. And he really couldn't afford to have a zombie sneaking up on him. Especially one that sounded like it had figured out he was there. So, he carefully made his way over and pushed it the rest of the way open with his foot. 

The door swung slowly, creaking on old and rusty hinges, and Keith readied his blade. Only to come across a gruesome sight. 

He had been wrong. This house was _not_ empty.

There were bodies, long since having decayed into bones, laying across the bed together. An adult, and three little dresses Keith recognized from one of the pictures in the hall. The bed was covered in dark stains. And sitting there, in the middle, was a zombie with an old and decrepit pistol in his lap, his jaw hanging by a dry and sad looking tendon, and the wall splattered behind him with those same dark spots that had no doubt once been crimson, but now looked like dark holes in the wall paper.

In the same instant the zombie spotted him, Keith felt his heart break. The zombie snarled louder, but it didn't move a muscle. The whites of it's eyes were showing, for what little white remained with as shriveled as they were. It’s tongue restlessly moved as it drooped, it's arms and body so thin and shriveled that it almost looked like a skeleton itself. 

It couldn't move, Keith realized. He must have missed his shot.

He knew what happened to the family now.

"I'm so sorry..." Keith whispered as he approached. 

The zombie turned its head to watch, ravenous and drooling. Keith pursed his lips, before bringing his dagger down and slicing through the top of that skull as easy as butter, and silencing the starving zombie. 

It went limp, and Keith pulled the dagger out. Watching it collapse, there was an uneasy bittersweet feeling as the zombie finally got to lay down with his family and be at peace. 

Keith felt his eyes burn as he turned away, wiping the blade on his pants and heading towards the stairs. He wished he had more time to say something, but the sun was starting to set, and he knew the horde was getting closer. He needed to find the brushes and get out of here.

He walked into a kitchen first, and from there, it wasn't hard to find the bathroom. Placing his knife down on the bathroom counter, he started pulling open drawers and sliding open the medicine cabinet. He was unlucky at first, finding nothing but moldy toilet paper, expired pills, and other odds and ends. At least, until he turned around. 

Right there, on the very top shelf in the bathroom closet, he could see the handle and cord of a hair dryer. 

"Bingo."

Keith looked pleased with himself as he placed his dagger back on his hip. He reached for the top shelf of the bathroom closet and pulled down the little tray. Inside he found exactly what he expected, and carefully started sorting through hair sprays and dry shampoos. 

There were more than a few styling brushes, combs, and regular brushes. Not much, but having five normal tools to brush hair was better then rusty nails and plywood. There were a few other things too, like hair ties and clips. Most of them were plain. The kind he knew Pidge would appreciate him bringing, in fact, so she could keep the bangs out of her eyes when she worked, and that Allura would appreciate so she could tie her long thick hair up on those hot summer days while she had to work outside. 

One made him pause though. A hair-clip in the shape of a butterfly that glittered even under the dull light of the house. He paused with it resting delicately on his fingers, thumbing the smooth, cool surface. He couldn't really see it's colors in the gloom, but he figured one of the girls would like it it back at Altea. He decided to take that too. 

Placing his bag on the floor, he knelt down to hold it in place with his knees, while unzipping it with his good hand. Just enough to shove the brushes and hair ties in as deep as he could. He pressed his bandaged and broken arm against the mouth of the opening to keep the syringes and tubing Hunk had shoved in there from popping back out, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain it brought to his arm.

It was bulging and the brushes were hitting out in weird positions when Keith zipped it back up again. He ignored the one that jabbed him in the shoulder as he heaved the bag on to his back again. It was a small price to pay for the comfort and relief of an actual hair brush. 

Keith cast one more look around to make sure he didn't miss anything important, before he made his way back up the stairs.

The bag came through the window first, and then Keith's feet. He emerged with a triumphant smile on his face, and leaned over the edge again to send it Lance and Hunk's way. "Got 'em."

Lance caught the bag, looking utterly bewildered at Keith’s success.

Keith lowered himself down carefully, fingers grabbed hold of the gutter again to steady himself as he slid off the roof while trying to be as silent as he could. His boots lowered down slowly onto the trashcan, and he couldn’t keep his grin off his face at his success.

Their good luck couldn't last forever, though.

That decaying wood that had held before gave a sudden groan, and then splintered. It lurched once, twice- and then gave away, the gutter breaking off the house. 

The sound of metal tearing forced Keith to gasp as he lost balance, lurching and wobbling with only one foot safely planted on the can- or rather the edge of the can. Without his other hand, he was unable to catch himself. 

His eyes went wide as the trash can tipped, fingers slipping in that sludge of mud and dead leaves before falling too. The sound of the gutter tearing away from the house coming in loud cracks and snaps that echoed like gunfire in the silence they’d been hoping to keep.

Keith and trashcan went down. His back hit the trashcan and he bounced off, landing on his chest and knocking the wind out of himself. Pain jerked up his arm and make him see white as his arm got trapped underneath him. He was unable to stifle the sound of agony that raced up his throat.

It was followed by the metal of the trashcan slamming against the pavement, giving off a painful ringing sound that ricochet through the silent air.

For a moment following his fall, and the resounding, deafening echo of the trashcan slamming into the pavement, there was silence. Utter and blissful silence, almost like no one had heard Keith’s blunder.

And then… A _roar_ came from around the corner, a cacophony of snarls and howls, screaming wails of hunger and desperate monstrous starvation. One of the hordes heard them, and they were coming, the sound of dozens upon dozens of feet shifting from a lifeless shuffle into a thunderous run nearly as deafening as the sound of the trashcan that had fallen.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Sorry for delay! Busy day, and had a doctors appointment for my Mama, so i was a little busy :)
> 
> We introduce a special little zombie today. Bedazzle Zombie just wants hugs. 8)  
>  
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "Out of all the chapters so far, what is your favorite quote from WMUH? It can be anything- from Lance's humor, to Pidge's snark, or Hunk's dry wit."
> 
> Strider answer: This is actually a really hard one, because I love like, all of the dialogue? It's gotta be a toss up though. One is Weenie's quote.
> 
> "The dead ran after them with gaping jaws, with their skin turned black and full of lesions and holes; a true horror film monster brought to life and absolutely willing to rip them open and devour them while they were still alive. Yet, Lance didn't scream when he saw them. He screamed at /cockroaches/."
> 
> and “I got sixty-nined by a zombie today.” Lance said abruptly, with incredibly deep dismay. “Guys. /Guys/. I feel /violated./”
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "If you were thrown into WMUH, how would you fare? And- how would you realistically react to Hunk, if you lived at Altea?"

Lance had his hands full of Keith’s backpack, and his eyes could do nothing but drink in the sight of Keith laid out while his ears were full of the horror of an approaching horde. Lance’s dark skin paled, his blue eyes pulling tight with clear terror.

The explosion of a roar obliterating the silence, followed by the stampeding sound of feet pounding over asphalt, did very little to help Keith catch his breath. Terror sliced through him, his skin turning as white as a sheet. His mind was spinning as his lungs were choking and gasping as he tried to force air into his chest- a chest that refused to work.

Keith needed to move. It didn't matter his arm was in pain. That couldn't compare to his utter _fear_. If he stayed here, he would be eaten alive! He had to get up. 

His body wouldn't listen. He couldn't make anything move. His mind screamed that he was useless; a burden. His terror cut even deeper, into those childhood fears of being abandoned. If he couldn't run, Hunk and Lance would have to leave him. His lungs were shutting down. His mind was getting fuzzy. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move. Fuck, why couldn't he just get up!?

Hunk’s ears might have been ringing from the trashcan that had rang the metaphorical dinner bell, but that didn’t mean that he was idle. He threw his packs back further along his shoulders, and appeared over Keith like a shadow, his hair bristling up with worry, irritation, and the same fear that came to anyone sane who heard the howls of the horde.

The zombie didn’t stoop down to ask Keith if he was okay- he didn’t stoop down to help him up, or to rouse him gently. They didn’t have time for the gentle method that they normally would when someone was wounded and needing to be helped up and back onto their feet.

Hunk shifted and Keith was plucked from the ground as if he was a toddler, tucking him against his shoulder like he was an upset child. Hunk’s chest vibrated with an apology that wasn’t human in origin, knowing the press of Keith’s broken arm against his chest was no doubt painful- but it was the lesser of two evils.

Keith felt Hunk's cold body before he realized what was happening. He hissed a gasping noise out from between tightly clenched teeth as his broken arm got trapped between that freezing wall of muscle and himself, but he didn't complain. He didn't have the air for it.

The horde turned the corner, one street between them and where the trio _needed_ to go- one street between them and Thorn, their way to Pine and to freedom. The horde locked onto the three of them in front of the dilapidated blue house, the only moving things on the entire street, and they honed in. Their arms were out, torn nails grasping as their pace quickened, stumbling over each other and prompting beastly snarls from the ones that ran into each other.

One or two zombies was scary. Ten to fifteen was horrifying. A horde- an army of soccer moms and dads, and businessmen and construction workers, nurses and teachers and children and shapes who might have been teenagers on the cusp of adulthood- all turned into the walking dead was many, many times more horrifying than anything they’d faced earlier.

It was terrifying even for Hunk, who’s chest was rattling with a tense growl as if it would ward off the incoming undead. Hunk turned frantic eyes to Lance as he tightened his hold on the winded Korean in his arms.

“ _Run._ ” He hissed.

Lance did not need to be told twice.

Hunk and Lance began to run. Keith's relief that they didn't leave him eased some of his fear, but, how Hunk was holding him, he could see the zombies running after them, the setting sun as red as blood behind them. 

Keith felt adrenaline kicking in, igniting his blood. Yet, every jostle of his arm against Hunk's chest had whatever breath he could make escaping him in a rush. Little spots were beginning to dance in his eyes, and the only thing that kept him from passing out was watching those zombies chasing after them; stretching from one end of the street to the other in a line of hungry teeth. 

Lance wasn’t fast- there was the bone deep bruise in his leg that had him limping, and running was clearly only making it worse. But, between life and death, death being the hungry line of teeth chasing them and lusting for the living flesh of the two men being escorted by the zombie, Lance would have been sprinting even with a broken leg. He’d have run on bloodied stumps if he had to. Being eaten alive was the _worst_ way to go. He and Hunk had seen it happen to the survivors they hadn’t been able to save.

Still, it spoke measures that Hunk, weighed down by his burden of gear and Keith in his grasp, kept pace with the long legged Cuban that usually had no problem outpacing him in the slightest.

Bad leg or not, Lance was still able to outstrip the horde. They might not have been sprinter fast, not the whole mass of them, but what they lacked in speed they made up for in tenacity.

He and Lance thundered down the street, away from the horde and away from their way out. But- Thorn wasn’t their only way out. It had just been, to Hunk’s senses, the clearest at the time of observation.

“Lance!” Hunk called, his breathing not even labored by his heavy footfalls, “Hang a right on Elm!” Elm hadn’t been… clear, when they’d passed it- but Elm was the closest road they could use to shake the horde’s sight. Once he could get line of sight broken, Hunk could smear them both in his blood and cover their scents.

Lance didn’t reply to Hunk. Lance had to breathe to power his muscles- Hunk didn’t have to breathe- he could run for days and keep talking while he did it. Lance had to conserve his breathing for running.

Hunk didn’t mind- he kept pace with Lance, not ahead, but more than aware that Lance couldn’t carry two packs and dodge zombies with his leg if he ran face first into them. And Hunk, he still had one arm that could, and _would_ , repel zombies back with vicious force.

Lance started to slow, but Hunk hooked his arm behind the Cuban and kept him going.

Elm was, blessedly and surprisingly, empty when they turned onto it. Pine, from what he could see all the way down the road, was also empty- but that didn’t promise that it would be once they turned onto it. Likely, the horde they were dealing with now had migrated from Pine- they smelled like they’d been in the area.

The scent trails were good- the fact that Hunk was taking humans down a road that smelled heavily of the dead would help begin masking their scent. Hunk had to take time and brain power to sort through all the stinks in the city, hence why their travel was so slow going. Sorting scents was something that most zombies in a rush wouldn’t be able to accomplish. 

Half way down Elm, Hunk jerked Lance back mid step, and tucked the three of them behind a flipped delivery truck. It might have, at some point, been someone’s U-haul, but now it was barren and white, half rusted, and a solid wall blocking them from the horde bearing down on the entrance to Elm.

Hunk set Keith on his feet, propping him against the back of the flat delivery truck. 

Keith was a little dazed when the three of them finally came to a stop, back hitting the wall of truck and his legs almost giving out when Hunk set him down. He was quivering all over, desperately trying to quiet his frantic gulps of air. His good hand clutched the broken one, guarding it against his chest as if that would somehow stop the pain rattling his frame.

He would be ashamed later, that he hadn't been able to hold his own. Right now, there was no time. 

Finally, Keith could catch his breath. Finally the spots faded from his vision, and the fog that had settled in his mind began to lift. However, the sharp agony in his arm never ceased, a constant jab that flew up his spine. He was chewing his cheek until the taste of iron filled his mouth trying to keep from making any noise.

“Stay still,” the order fell from his lips without him meaning for it to be an order, but it was an urgent moment and Hunk needed them both to sit still while he smeared them as quickly and safely as he could, “I need to get blood on your clothes.” On clothes, but nowhere near wounds.

That said, Hunk lifted his own wrist to his mouth to bite, his dark lips peeling back over glistening white teeth.

Barking stopped him, lurching his motions to a grinding halt, stopping him in his tracks as his pupils momentarily widened, the predator in him recognizing the sound as something that could lead to prey. It had him flipping around, peeking around the edge of the truck, his muscles tense and looking for the dog daring to make noise.

There, at the mouth of the road they’d hauled ass down, was a dog. A gleam of white as far as Hunk cared to tell- it was barking at the horde, raising a hell of a racket and making the back of Hunk’s neck crawl with the anxious need to make the noise _stop_. It was going to bring _every_ zombie in the area down on their heads.

Hunk didn’t carry guns, but he could use them. He was no sharpshooter though- and if they fired, the horde, which was now fixated on the dog, would turn right back on them and keep chasing.

The barking that was cutting through the snarls and growls had Keith furrowing his brows in confusion, before shifting and peeking around the corner of the fallen truck and spotting the same flash of white. 

The dog they had been afraid was tracking them, looking for a moment to attack, was _saving_ them. 

“Fuck… They’re going to eat Fido.” Lance nearly whimpered, his voice a wheezing whisper barely audible over the roaring din of riled undead.

“No,” Hunk disagreed, “they’re not. They’re following the dog. The dog is noisy, noisy means food, but not the dog _as_ food. Even a Shambler won’t harm animals.” That was the only good thing, so to speak, about the apocalypse. Animal abusers everywhere no longer abused animals, because there simply were no more abusers.

“It sure looks like they’re gonna eat the dog, Hunk. I don’t wanna hear them eat the dog.” His arm tightened around Princess, who had gotten jostled, but had stayed right where she’d been clipped thanks to the combination of the harness and the middle strap that Lance had on. Lance’s eyes watched the horde, watching them move past the street.

“Even if they do, it’s better the dog than us, Lance.” Hunk whispered gently. “I can’t fight that many- that’s too many, even for _me_ , not while I’ve got to keep you two safe.”

"I hope they don't eat it," Keith mumbled, finally managing to find his voice, though he was reduced to little more than a wheeze as he watched the same horde begin to shamble off after the noisy dog. He didn't voice his panic, but, he felt it. Like Lance, he couldn't believe how many zombies had massed together and chased them down. It was the biggest horde he had ever seen- at least thirty, or forty. Maybe even _more_. Hunk was right. It was too many to fight. 

Lance’s throat bobbed, tight with lingering panic as he watched the horde move. “God- there’s so many. Oh my god-” His voice dropped down, going nearly raspy as he watched a hulking mountain of muscle shuffle into view, shoving past the other much smaller zombies. “Hunk look at that one. He’s bigger than you.” Lance shuddered, watching a massive, bulging wall of muscle shuffling slowly at the edge of the group. 

Keith eyes went wide at the sight of it. It towered over the others. Black oozed from the open sores that had split all over it's body where sudden and rapidly bulging muscles had appeared. It was a mutation, like Hunk.

It had on track pants that seemed to have rotted into it’s skin, and one tattered sleeve of a fancy shirt that seemed to have melted into it’s flesh over the bulging, gross expanse of pocked skin and oozing sores of the zombie’s torso. Half of the hair was missing, the rest of it matted close to the bleeding scalp.

It was, safe to say in the Cuban’s opinion, _horrifyingly_ gross and big.

Hunk’s gaze zeroed in on the big one, which seemed to be breaking off from the horde and… _Waiting_. Almost like it was waiting for them to come out. It’s head was bobbing, looking, and it was sniffing out of a face missing lips. Bare, white teeth were pulled back in a permanent skeletal grin. It wasn’t intelligent- Hunk watched it stumble over a discarded blown tire from before the apocalypse left long ago in the street, and snarl at it’s own shadow.

Not intelligent no, not like Hunk, but clearly better fed than the others. And large- larger than Hunk, and that was saying something since Hunk stood at seven foot two and was built like a linebacker. But, at least, even if it saw them, Zombies were slow, and they could duck the weird one. Hunk had never seen a fast one that was as big as that.

“I think it’s a weird one.” Hunk mumbled. “Y’know- one of the virus variants. Look- looks like it’s clothes ripped from the inside. Also, I think ‘he’ was a she. That _was_ a boob.” Before it had swelled into some sort of blobby, fleshy muscly monstrosity, and the nipples had been scraped off by likely previous hunts.

Also, it was wearing bedazzled sneakers. Either the zombie had been a very flamboyant man, had kids who liked to bedazzle, or had been a woman who liked sparkly _everything_.

Keith thought, for a moment, Pidge would find it _fascinating_. However, he wasn't about to try and memorize that walking freak show of a beast for her. Because, it hadn't been lured by the fading barks. It was _seeking_ them out, which meant they had to get out of here immediately.

Lance swallowed. “I’ve had enough of zombie women, Hunk. Too many- and that one is bigger than the molesting shambler.” His eyes tracked the zombie woman- woman, man, whatever it was, it was a wall of walking horror. “Fuck- I _hate_ variants. No offense, Hunk, but that one is fifty shades of _**no**_.”

“None taken, _hermano_ , I hate them too.” Variants were always some kind of nasty. Nasty hard to kill, nasty hard to avoid, nasty hard to out run- nasty everything. This one, Hunk observed, seemed to be… hyper focused. There must have been a reason it was well fed. It didn’t give up until it found it’s prey.

"Variants can go to hell," Keith rasped, finally catching his breath. He _hated_ variants. As if dealing with zombies every day wasn't enough, the universe decided to throw them these variants, zombies that were always harder to down. 

He, Lance, and Hunk had met a few of them before, thankfully they were rare, and Lance had almost gotten himself eaten, the shot to it's armored forehead bouncing right off like the rifle shot had been only a damn fleabite. In the end, Hunk had to snap it's neck, which took tremendous effort _even_ for the stronger undead man. 

Thankfully this wasn't another ‘armored’ one. And double thankfully, that was years ago and they hadn't found an armored one since. The last thing they needed were armored fucking zombies. 

In Keith’s opinion, the only good variant was Hunk, and like the armored one, they hadn't found another like him either. 

The barking of the dog was fading- the horde moving on, rotten minds distracted by the fact they couldn’t see their prey, and hadn’t been able to get a good lead on the scent. The only one lingering was the variant zombie- and it didn’t take long before the end of the road was empty of the horde.

“Okay.” Lance’s fingers shuffled the extra bag he’d taken, bundling it up onto his shoulder so he could shuffle over and help Keith. Adrenaline was powerful- Lance could barely feel his leg, but Keith had a broken arm, and had fallen off a damn roof just to get him a goddamn _hairbrush_.

Lance shifted beside him, and Keith gladly lifted his arm to accept the others help. He had managed to catch his breath, but despite the adrenaline in his blood, he could hardly walk. His body was too caught up in the pain of his arm that had been jostled far too much. His pale skin had broken into a sweat, and his stomach was churning and lurching dangerously. His mind was threatening to give out just to escape the pain his body had been put through.

He needed the help whether he liked it or not. There was no time to be prideful when they were running for their lives.

Lance could help heft him along. Keith wasn’t that heavy with adrenaline powering him. “Hunk, I can’t use my rifle, not now. So, you’re gonna have to run defense for us- the rifle will bring them right back down on our heads, and guardian angel Fido is only gonna happen once in a lifetime. And I don’t want to tangle with that big bitch until we’re out of the city limits. If the big one follows us that far, I can put a bullet in it from afar, and that should be the end of that.”

Hunk’s jaw tightened. Anxiety darkened his eyes, and he glanced away from the road and the zombie, settling those dark eyes on his friends as Lance hefted Keith up. “Okay. Yeah. Keep in front of me- we need to move quick, but quiet. Take a right on Pine- it’ll take us right out of the city. Fifteen blocks, guys- we’re super close.”

“We _can_ make it.” Lance’s brows furrowed, determined.

“ _We can make it_.” Hunk agreed. He shifted against the overturned truck, and then motioned his _family_ out. “Lets go.”

Lance hefted Keith’s weight up, making sure his friend stayed balanced, and then hauled him along. Like Hunk had said, Lance moved quick but careful, his weight wobbling only lightly on his bad leg.

Hunk trailed along behind the both of them, keeping his eyes and ears open as he escorted them down Elm and towards the threshold of Pine.

Pine was less densely clustered housing, and more open trees, much like the name suggested. It was where the suburbs bled into the countryside, and then left the city proper itself. The zombies seemed to stick to the cities due to the echoing noise- it kept them around, thinking there was food when there wasn’t- they were easily led off. Case in point being the dog.

Dogs and zombies had a symbiotic relationship of sorts in the city, much like the crows and carrion feeders.

Though, the three of them moving into line of view stirred the zombie behind them again, and it’s shuffling steps picked up once more. It growled, a deep, throaty noise from behind lip-less teeth, but it’s echo didn’t call any of the horde back, thankfully.

However… The sound of it’s movement picked up. The shuffling steps of feet turned into walking- walking turned into stumbling jogs- and then _faster_ , even over the sounds of Lance and Keith’s shoes, and Hunk’s heavy steps.

Hunk looked back over his shoulder just as they were cresting Elm, and he felt his stomach drop down into his knees.

It was charging them- full speed, sprinter style charging, cloudy eyes fixated on the humans in front of Hunk.

“Lance-” Hunk’s voice rose several pitches higher, tone going nearly panicky. “Lance, Lance move, move you need to _move_!”

They had underestimated their zombie pursuer. Like Hunk, Keith thought that big hulking blob of flesh couldn't possible move that fast. As they slipped out from behind the truck, hurrying as quietly as they could, Keith heard the variant snarl at the sight of them, but he thought they would be long gone before it could catch up.

Those footsteps behind them grew faster and impossibly faster. His heart leaped into his throat as Hunk's panicked sound had him glancing over his shoulder. And he could see it, that mountain of pulsing and oozing flesh charging towards them at unbelievable speed. 

They couldn't out run _that_. 

The Cuban turned his head and choked on his tongue as he spotted the rapidly incoming monster. Lance froze for half a second, before he rolled Keith and himself sloppily over the roof of a car, tucking them just out of the way as he watched what amounted to a train-wreck in slow motion.

Lance tugged and Keith followed, almost crashing to the ground as he hastily and clumsily rolled over the car with the other. Momentarily, the pain of his arm had him swaying, but he shook his head to force his vision to clear. He whirled around, cringing when the sound of two zombies colliding cracked through the air like thunder.

Hunk had turned to meet it, dropping his bags in a swift motion as his hands went for his knifes and his muscles bulged and swelled with tension in anticipation of stopping the charging zombie in one fell motion- and the zombie had barreled into him, taking him right off his feet and carrying him several meters before they crashed down onto the cement with a bruising smack of flesh on artificial stone, driving debris into his flesh.

Hunk’s knives clattered just out of his reach, knocked out of his hands as he was smacked down.

The sound of Hunk’s ribs caving in was a sickening cavernous _crack_ , simultaneously mixed with the sound of the Samoan man’s gurgling snarl of pain as he was taken down, flat on his back, with the big zombie confused about it’s quarry not smelling like food.

Keith watched with horror as the variant took Hunk right off his feet, watched it carry Hunk with it's momentum, before he heard bones cracking as they both smashed into cement. "Hunk!" He gasped, and it was probably a foolish thing to do. It alerted the variant that he was there.

Keith wasn’t the only one who made a noise- Lance let out a garbled shout, and his rifle dropped into his hands. But that’s where he froze- if he shot, it would echo, and then they would be fucked.

The two zombies were still for several seconds, Hunk’s face drawn tight in what was clearly pain as his breaths wheezed through his teeth. 

Hunk was so _still._ He could see his friends pain, clear as day. And Keith suddenly jerked away from the car on instinct. Pain made him clumsy, but he kept moving. It meant nothing if his friend was hurt. 

It tried to get up. It’s cloudy eyes spotted Keith and Lance from between lanky, mangy hair, and thick arms pulsed with undead energy, forcing itself up as it crushed Hunk down.

Keith hadn't even realized he had started to move to defend Hunk until he froze in his tracks as the variant looked right at him. The hungry gleam of a predator lurking far too close to him had his breath catching in his chest and his heart stuttering behind his ribs.

Keith suddenly couldn't feel his arm anymore, terror numbing him to the pain. He scrambled for his dagger, trembling fingers slippery with sweat and trying to grasp the handle, only for his fingers to fumble and for it to fall out of his grasp and clatter to the pavement.

The Samoan could only choke on a pained noise for half a second as the zombie crushed him into the pavement, before the pain switched the sentient zombie over into aggression. Hunk snarled at the zombie that dwarfed him, white teeth flecking black as he let out a muted inhuman noise. Hunk’s hands sank into it’s spongy, rotten flesh. The action only seemed to make it angry- it switched from confused to clearly enraged, and thick fists began to smash down, trying to aim for the man trying to get his fingers into the monster’s neck to snap it.

Keith's relief at seeing his friend moving was short lived though. The variant snarled _back_. It began to swing it's fists at his friend, landing blow after blow while Hunk tried to grab at it's neck.

They had to help him! The needed to do something before Hunk's skull was crushed in by those fists. "Lance--!"

Whatever Keith was about to cry was cut off by a different kind of snarl. A white flash of fur dashed past the car. Keith's eyes widened as he watched it leap at the variants back. The dog collided with the variant, digging it's teeth into flesh and yanking it back, tugging and pulling the variant until it was screaming in fury as flesh tore away and black blood stained the white snout. 

The variant turned and tried to swipe at the dog. 

Keith saw an opening. 

He lifted his arm up, ignoring the sharp jolt of agony as he grasped _Altair's_ handle and pulled it free of it's sheath. Grasping the sword in two hands, he lurched foreword. 

The blade of his katana slipped right into the variants ear. It jerked and twisted, trying to grasp Keith. Gritting his teeth, those violet eyes blazed as he gripped the blade tighter. He gave a hard shove, and the blade plunged into flesh, until it poked through the other side, showering the pavement and Hunk with black sludge. 

Keith yanked the blade back out and the variant crumbled like tissue paper, falling flat down with dark blood spilling from its ears.

Immediately, his arm assaulted him with pain. The katana slipped from his fingers as he crumbled right along with the variant, stifling a cry and curling around his arm. The fingers of his good arm clutching desperately at the cement as he struggled just to breathe. Fuck, it was a stupid idea... But, it was better then having Lance take a shot. The horde, which had thankfully not been close enough to hear the variant, would have been back on them in seconds. He had made the smarter choice, even if the consequences of that were eating him up now. 

The dog continued to growl and yank on zombie flesh, tugging the dead-weight back and off of Hunk little by little, until flesh tore off in it's mouth and it shook itself off. Dark blood dripped off its maw when it settled, sitting on his haunches and wary eyes on the trio.

Perhaps most worrying thing, other than the dog staring at them intently, was the fact that Hunk didn’t immediately rise when most of the massive Zombie had been pulled off of him. It was pinning his lower torso and part of his stomach, but he was fully able to shift a corpse.

He had gone limp as soon as the threat was done, his arms falling lax and his blood splattered face looking almost pale under the dark gore patterns. The fact that he- a dark skinned zombie- looked pale was a particularly impressive feat in itself. His ribs were misshapen, lumpy looking, and his lips were flecked black from internal hemorrhaging, which couldn’t kill him, but was definitely annoying and unhelpful.

Hunk was also not breathing, his chest alarmingly, inhumanely, still.

Lance scuttled to his side, one eye on the dog sitting near them. “Good dog-” he paused, rethought his words upon seeing the dog’s underbelly, “good boy. _Very_ good boy.” Lance crouched, his leg twinging, and he brushed his fingers over Hunk’s forehead.

“Best boy,” Keith gritted between clenched teeth, his body curling around his arm as he silently pleaded for the pain to ebb.

Hunk didn’t so much as stir when Lance brushed his hair out of his eyes, and slid his gaze briefly to Keith. Keith looked okay, even if he was clearly in a whole world of pain. This was a terrible, terrible situation, Lance realized- they needed to get up and get out, not linger longer for another variant to come find them. “Hunk? _Hermano_? Gimme a sign that you aren’t dead, please.”

Lance’s words drew Keith’s gaze, and his breath hitched, anxiety flooding him as the delay between Lance talking and Hunk’s response grew.

Eventually, his eyes slid open and Hunk let out a tiny pained noise. It was a small, utterly pathetic sound of pain- like a wounded animal caught in a bear trap.

“That’s good enough.” Lance would have just taken his eyes moving, but the noise let Lance know that Hunk was still Hunk, and that the ghastly sounding snarls hadn’t been his buddy snapping into a feral zombie. “We gotta go, big guy.” Lance did not want to touch the gooey beast still pinning his best friend, but he made an attempt, standing and sinking his fingers into it with a grunt as he pushed. It was heavy- too heavy for him to roll off.

Large, dark hands reached up and joined Lances, and Hunk helped him roll the corpse off of him. But still, Hunk didn’t move. His hands went limp again, and his brows furrowed, his body laying still not unlike the limp one he’d just rolled off of him.

Lance gave him a minute, but when he didn’t get up on his own, he set his hand gently on his shoulder. “Hunk… Hunk.” He gave him a small nudge, and was rewarded with honey eyes setting on him again. Hunk didn’t speak, but his question was clear. “Hunk. Can you… Hunk, brother, buddy, can you feel your legs?”

“You don’t think he’s-” Keith cut off, face twisting in time with the thunder of his heart. Hunk couldn’t be- he’d moved his arms. But that didn’t mean, Keith had to remind himself, that something further down in his back hadn’t broken.

That was the most pressing question that needed to be asked then. If Hunk couldn’t move, Lance and Keith couldn’t carry him. They’d have to… leave him there, until they could get human flesh together and come back for him. And they would. Lance would. Lance would always come back, because that’s exactly what Hunk would do.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Hunk gave a twitch of his boots, a flex of his feet, and shifted his legs to answer his immediate question. Finally, he put his hands flat on the cement, and then lifted himself up. Hunk moaned, low in his throat, as hot waves of pain pierced his chest, sinking deep into his tissues. It was hard, overwhelming even, to handle it as he sat up.

Slowly, he sucked in a breath, the sound of his broken ribs grinding against each other making Lance wince and pale. “Sorry. Needed a moment to collect myself.” His words were clear, though spoken slowly and in a low tone. “I’m… A bit sore.”

Hunk’s ribs were likely puncturing several organs- his lips flecked with fresh black blood, and he kept his mouth turned downward as he swallowed it down.

“That’s okay.” Lance’s hands fluttered gently on Hunk’s shoulders, unsure how to help. “But we need to move. I- I don’t know if the horde heard that, or if other zombies might have, but all three of us are hurt now, and we need to get home. You can’t fight like this.”

“Watch me.” The zombie rolled to his feet, and staggered for a step, his body betraying his stubborn attempt at bravery. The muscles of his chest flexed, holding him steady where his ribs had been broken inward. Hunk took another breath, and then stumbled for his knives, stiffly stooping over to stuff them into his sheathes.

While Hunk went to grab his bags, Lance kept an eye on the dog, and approached Keith. Lance fetched the knife for him, and Altair. Lance made sure they were all safely tucked into their sheathed, and then slid his hands down to his friend’s good arm. “Come on, buddy. We’ve got to go, and Hunk can’t carry you this time. Lean on me- I’ve got you. None of us are gonna get left behind.”

Keith could only groan as Lance pulled him up. He hurt- god, he hurt, everything hurt, and he still wasn’t too sure if his stomach was going to empty itself or not. He wobbled, and grimaced as Lance shoved under his shoulder.

“None of us,” Hunk agreed with a sad sounding rasp, heaving his bags back up onto his shoulders. His face was pinched, tight- but Hunk was ready to go home, pain be damned. He glanced at the dog and lowered his fingers, giving them an inviting wiggle. They were gore spattered, like most of him was, but he still wiggled them gently, and made a few soft clucking noises in the back of his throat. “Good boy.” He murmured lightly. “Good boy. You wanna come with, buddy?”

He probably should have been worried about a dog that didn’t have any qualms about biting a zombie, since he was also dead. But he hadn’t jumped on him immediately when Hunk had been pinned under the zombie, so the dog was likely used to people of some sort. And Hunk acted like a person, and not like a zombie- which was also a big key for dogs who worked off of body language.

But the dog didn’t bite his fingers- he simply cocked his head, let his tongue loll out, and rocked to his paws to follow them.

Hunk would take that for as good a sign as any that the dog was friendly.

“You know...” Hunk mumbled. “If he stays, he’s gonna need a name.”

“Fido works.” Lance chimed automatically- and wheezed when Keith roughly bumped his temple into Lance’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t concuss yourself on my bones, Mullet. I don’t wanna explain to Pidge why you ended up a drooling lump in the corner.”

“Fuck you,” Keith spat with no ire. “And we’re not naming him- him?”

“Him.” Hunk reaffirmed.

“We’re not naming him Fido.” His brows pinched together, looking pensive as he glanced back at the pretty fur of the hound, and the dark black staining his muzzle like a blackhole in a galaxy. “Give me time, I’ll name him something. And not Prince either, before you even open that mouth of yours.”

Lance pouted.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: I'm so sorry this was so late omfg. I got in an art kick and spent the day after work with my hands buried in glue and feathers, so lmfao I almost forgot to post on schedule. SHAME ON ME.
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: "If you were thrown into WMUH, how would you fare? And- how would you realistically react to Hunk, if you lived at Altea?"
> 
> Strider Answer: Honestly? I'm diabetic, so I'd be fucking dead once my meds ran out and my blood sugars skyrocketed XD 
> 
> But, on the off chance I managed to keep my blood sugars balanced and didn't go into a coma and die or become a zombie, I'd honestly be fascinated by Hunk. I'm hard to bother, so I'd probably hang out with Hunk. Cook with him in the kitchens n' the like. My IRL line of work has me dealing with a client with easily transmitted diseases anyway, so like... *Shrug* Dealing with Hunk, wounds or no, wouldn't be that different?
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: "Which of the voltron lions is your favorite lions? Why?"

Four days to reach the city on their way out initially, from the moment they left the gates early in the morning, until they reached the library later on the fourth evening. But, that was four days with all three of them whole and healthy, with none of them sustaining any injuries. The time it took to travel anywhere was significantly slowed when they had to stop frequently for resting breaks and for food breaks to make sure that pain medication didn’t become too much for anyone’s systems.

It took them _six days_ to make it home, from the moment that they’d set foot out of the suburbs of the city.

Grand total, their trip took eleven days. Four to get there, one spent looting, and six spent limping their way home, step by careful step with their load of items and their two new animal companions. Closer to twelve days, given that it was technically the twelfth day by the time that Altea actually came into view.

Not any one of them was to blame for the time it took them to get home, exactly. All three of them were pretty busted up. Hunk’s ribs were broken, leading to some pretty constant internal hemorrhaging and a lot of swelling in his chest and torso that made walking, talking, and pretty much existing agony, since it couldn’t outright kill him. He wouldn’t even begin healing until he could get home and eat.

Lance’s leg was, they thought, perhaps actually a fracture under the bruises, and all the running from the horde hadn’t helped it. He’d gone from steadily helping Keith along to having to use the butt of his rifle to help himself limp. He settled down heavily at night, and would rest his swelling leg on Hunk’s leg to let the cold flesh ease some of the pain and swelling- and so Hunk could make good on his promise to give him a foot rub. Which, broken ribs or not, Hunk had been too amused to deny him that the first night, and all nights after.

Keith’s arm had to be re-set once they were safe, and Hunk was running him on more heavy duty pain killers. The fall had once again broken the fracture from where it had been set- and bouncing around against Hunk’s chest, and then using Altair against a variant had done some extra damage to the surrounding tissue. Hunk was pretty sure it wasn’t anything lasting, but Keith had to rest.

With the three of them wounded, their walk back was a little more stressful- but, oddly enough, not by much. The only problems they had was the fact that Hunk had nothing to consume as none of them had it in them to properly hunt him down an edible cadaver, and the fact that they had to be on extra lean rations to feed the healing humans, and their new animal companions for the extra days.

Though, the dog that had saved them, Kosmo as Keith took to calling him, was invaluable for helping them avoid the undead and was absolutely worth the extra effort in rationing out bits of jerky. Between the dog and Hunk, they managed to steer clear of all stragglers along the way.

The dog and the cat didn’t really get along, though it wasn’t so much on Kosmo’s part. Kosmo appeared to want to love on the kitten- after Lance’s initial panic at waking up with Princess snarling and Kosmo making puppy eyes at her.

Princess wasn’t impressed with the dog being close to her at all- and Kosmo got scratches on his nose any time he tried to get close.

Other than the cat and dog drama, and the occasional zombie here and there, their trip back was, while long, relatively uneventful.

Still- the gates of Altea were a true godsend to see coming into view as they trudged their way up through the forest.

The guards atop the gate spotted them long before they arrived at the entrance, one of them visibly leaning in to speak into the short range radios they had for communication with the interior of Altea. Likely, the guards were alerting everyone that they had returned- after all, it wasn’t often that they ran over their planned time. Or any team did, for that matter.

Usually, if a scavenging team ran over their planned time, something had gone awry- and usually, that meant they were down a team and up several bodies to retrieve. It was a thankfully rare occurrence now, when it had used to be very common. Though, the rarity of such an event also meant that, when it did happen, it raised _all_ kinds of alarms and fears for everyone left back at Altea. An hour or two was one thing, but a day- bordering on two days based on the height of the sun, was usually a bad sign.

The gate opened for them before they even had to call up to them to have it opened.

Gray was, once again, on guard duty. His dark hair was pulled back in a bun to keep it out of his face, so his concern was clearly seen as he leaned against the chain link fence and peered down at them as they hobbled through to safety. “ _Jesus._ ” He breathed. “You two look like you went rounds with Hunk and _lost_. And Hunk, my dude, you’re covered in _gross_. And it’s long _dry_. What the hell happened out there?”

Hunk managed a feeble wave for the guys atop the wall. His shirt was loose enough to keep the swelling in his torso not visible, and other than the stiffness of his gait, he didn’t look wounded. The stiffness of his gait was common when he came home anyways- often they ran out of water for Hunk to drink, and it wasn’t like he could die from dehydration like either Keith or Lance could. So, Hunk would go without so they could be in top shape.

And he might have given them his uncontaminated bottles of water so they could stay hydrated to heal better anyways.

“It was a rough run.” Hunk called up to Gray, running his tongue across his teeth as he sucked in a shallow breath, swallowing saliva at the smell of so many clean, healthy humans in the area. His stomach reminded him of how many days he’d gone without food- and while, by far, it wasn’t the longest he’d gone, it was definitely verging into the ‘eat before you become a problem’ territory. He tucked his arms tighter against the sides of his ribs, bracing them with the heavy bags he had strewn over his back. His stomach _ached_ , a deep, unending throb of ravenous hunger that even drowned out the pain in his chest. Being a zombie sucked- especially when hunger took precedence over wounds.

“But we came back with the mother load of goods!” Lance- hauling his weight along on his safety locked rifle and using it like a crutch- called up to Gray with an almost jubilant laugh in his voice. It was good to be home though- being home at Altea left him in an impossibly good mood. “God, Gray, you don’t even _know_. We found the Pharmacy on the map after spending the worst night in the world at this old pre-apocalypse library.”

“Was it loaded?” He questioned, motioning the gates to be swung closed once the trio plus dog had cleared the gate.

“Oh, _hella._ Hunk packed our bags something amazing, man, and he got books too. Like, you don’t even know.” He groaned. “ _And_ I got Allura a gift, and it was just a good haul all around even if getting out of those suburbs was hell. I’d rather lick the devil’s butt hole than do that again any time soon.”

Hunk made a face, but it took effort not to laugh. Laughing hurt- he’d done enough of it over the past days to know just how much agony laughing actually put him through. In pain or not, Lance liked to make them laugh- the only problem was, laughing was basically torture for Hunk, and stifling it didn’t necessarily help the flash of pain that ricochet through his chest. “ _Lance._ ” He scolded. “Manners.”

Gray barked a laugh, as did most of the guards on top of the fence that were within hearing range of the Cuban man’s vulgar comment. “Not going to lie, if you’re willing to lick the devil’s anus over doing that trip again, it sounds like you’ve got several stories to tell us tonight around dinner.”

“Hell yeah, you’re gonna hear them all at dinner tonight!” His voice boomed, and he wobbled closer to his friends with a laugh. “Gotta get fixed up first though.”

“Once Hunk takes a better look at your leg and gets Keith into a proper sling.” Gray agreed, watching the trio shuffle their load on their backs, seeming to be reveling in the fact they were safe and that they’d come back with bags bulging with medical supplies and books for those who needed new material to read. Though, movement up further on the lawn had his attention. “Also...” He wiggled a finger at the door to the main building. “Incoming- your usual gate greeters are coming. Plus a couple extra, it looks like.”

The warning had multiple sets of eyes glancing up, curious.

The reason they dallied at the gate was more out of habit than anything. Usually, when they got back, they’d be greeted and welcomed home from their successful trip by some small part of the rest of their group. Sometimes it was everyone, sometimes it was just a small selection- sometimes it was just one or two of the non-main group that even stopped by to welcome them back. But, it was a tradition.

Scouting, scavenging, and hunting parties were usually sent off with an audience, and welcomed back with one.

There were four people approaching from across the lawn, the front doors to the main building thrown open. The first in the group was Pidge, all but sprinting down the lawn, with Romelle following at a brisk walk, and Allura following at a much slower pace. Perhaps the most surprising of all, was next to Allura was Shiro. 

However, no one really had time to hyper focus on the fact that Shiro was outside- not when Pidge was barreling towards the Korean with the broken arm at speeds probably fast enough to make him cry. 

Keith was, for a moment, startled by the sight of Shiro walking side by side with Allura, before he focused on the woman charging across the grounds towards him. He braced himself, shoulders tightening, shifting his body in hopes of defending his broken arm, flinching and waiting for the collision he knew would only bring him nothing but pain.

He wouldn't stop her. Why would he? Keith had missed her while traveling with Hunk and Lance. He wanted to wrap around her and feel her warmth and bury his nose in her soft hair. He would endure _any_ pain for that. 

Hunk made the decision for him though, putting his arm out to force her to stop. Keith’s shoulders relaxed, and that flinch became a pinched brow and small frown, violet eyes glinting in their own intense way, full of longing.

Hunk jerked his arm between her path and Keith, his brows growing tense when his side jostled. But he did nothing- simply waited as she approached, honing in like a heat seeking missile.

Or, in her case, a Keith seeking missile. Pidge slammed to a halt in front of Keith once she realized that simply plowing him over would actually be more of a detriment to him than usual.

It also helped that Hunk had stepped forward and put his arm between Pidge and Keith- something he rarely did.

Her eyes glinted behind her glasses, and she gave Keith a worried look, before turning her gaze to meet Hunk’s. “How bad?” She demanded, voice more steady than her eyes looked.

Like Keith worried for her when he was outside, Pidge worried for him when he ventured out. And this time, he hadn’t come back okay like he had on other trips. Her worry was valid- just as his had been when she’d been captured on one of her rare trips out.

“Broken arm, concussion, and a multitude of bruises from an incredibly well intended but dumb decision. Concussion is mostly gone now, and he’s stopped making dumb decisions based upon irrational instinct.” Hunk lowered his arm once he was sure Pidge wasn’t going to tackle Keith, curling it back at his side. “Gentle with him. It’s a nasty break, and he needs a proper sling. Do you think you can handle that? I need to put a brace on Lance’s leg, or at least wrap it with the reusable bandaging.”

Keith swallowed as those eyes found his, so full of _worry_. He hated seeing her like that. And his heart was aching so much, both in guilt and in need of Pidge's comfort, that he didn't even care what Hunk said about his decisions. None of that mattered now. 

“I can handle it.” Pidge nodded tersely. She was much more gentle as her arms snaked around Keith, tugging him into a hug as she hid her face in the shoulder that wasn’t bearing the weight of a bad arm. 

Keith shifted, meeting her hug and wrapping his good arm around the small of Pidge's back as she snaked her arms around him in tandem. Closing his eyes briefly, he buried his nose in her hair. _Fuck,_ he missed this. 

Keith wasn't interested for close contact. Being forced to hang on Lance intermittently for those six days was _really_ pushing his limit. When it came to Pidge, however, he couldn't get enough. He was addicted to her smell, her touch, and her laugh. And already, just holding her soft body close, was like a soothing balm. He didn't care about his bruises or his breaks. All that mattered was the young woman against him. All that mattered was that he was _home_.

“I was worried, you _asshole_. You guys were late.” Her voice was muffled by his chest, but the culmination of all of her worry and her upset was clearly there in her voice. “And bringing a dog is not gonna get you out of the dog house for being late _and_ hurt, _Kogane._ Not even if that dog is the handsomest pupper and goodest good boy in the world.”

Keith smiled against her hair. "I'm sorry, Katie," he whispered, voice low, and a little gruff, meant only for her. 

“Oooo, she used your last name.” Lance snickered, having not heard the whisper and there in interrupting Pidge’s reply. “You’re in trouble. Kinda wish we had phones that worked for more than just playing silly phone games. The cell towers are all down though.” He let out a wistful sigh. “Could make it easy to send messages. ‘Sorry, late because zombies, be back in a couple days bae’.”

Predictably, at least to Keith, Lance _had_ to open his stupid mouth. Keith's smile turned flat, and he shot a look at him over Pidge's shoulder. "What are you, five!?" He snapped.

“No, I’m a ten!” Lance puffed his chest up, proud of his verbal wordplay as he sassed his friend. 

“Lance.” Pidge huffed, her arms tightening around Keith’s middle.

“ _Whaaaaaaaat_?”

“You’re ruining my moment. Go let Allura fuss over you.” Pidge didn’t seem inclined to let go of Keith, even though another of the approaching people was there, clearly, to see Keith.

“I know when I’m not wanted!” Lance faked a sniffle, clearly, and hobbled ahead. “Allura!” He cried, throwing his non-busy arm into the air. “I need a kiss! I got molested by a shambler who shoved her nasty lady bits in my face and bruised my leg! I also have something for you!”

That had Pidge’s attention, and her gaze turned briefly, watching the Cuban speed hobble past Romelle to go meet their glorious leader. “Wait. Is he- he’s _exaggerating_ , right?”

“Sadly, no.” Hunk’s lowly murmured answer was nearly muffled by his tiny grunt as he rolled his packs on his shoulder, not looking toward to the rest of the trek up to the main building. 

His look remained dry as Lance made a spectacle of himself, and when Pidge turned slightly to watch, Keith sighed. _H_ _ard_. "No," he replied simultaneously with Hunk. He rolled his eyes, briefly meeting his friend’s to share a humored look of exasperation for the Cuban throwing himself across the grass, before they froze on the man who was still approaching them. 

"Shiro..." He whispered. 

His body grew a little taught under Pidge's, but he didn't let go of her. He was looking at Shiro with furrowed brows, violet gaze gleaming and almost desperate. Was he...? Was this...?

"Hello, Keith," Shiro replied, his gaze almost tentative. The air around them grew tense. 

Shiro clearly knew he hadn't made it easy for the other to take care of him since Zarkon's compound- as much as he hated the thought of it, Shiro had listened to what the Zombie had said, because as much as he hated him for what he was, he’d spoken honestly. 

He knew Keith wanting to leave was, in some part, his fault. Shiro felt a little guilty for that, and desired to do better for the young man who continually fought for him, even when he was at his lowest and darkest. Two weeks wasn't all that long, and he still struggled, but he was here. He was _trying_.

Keith continued to stare, wondering if maybe the pain meds Hunk had given him had fucked with his head a little bit. But the more he blinked, the more real it was. Keith felt his eyes start to burn with the blossoming of light and relief in his chest. 

Keith would take trying. He'd take anything just to see the man he owed his very life to walking and talking and _human_ again.

"You got a dog," Shiro pointed out, a little surprised as Kosmo greeted him, pressing his wet nose to bandaged hands gentle and his tail wagging in an ivory blur. 

Keith laughed, wet and happy, shoulders relaxing as he glance back down at Pidge. "Yeah, I did. His name is Kosmo."

Shiro's smile was warm as he replied, "Good name."

“I like Kosmo.” Pidge agreed, glancing over her shoulder at Shiro again, but clearly not desiring to let go of Keith any time soon. “Better than something dumb like Fido.”

Hunk was listening to their exchange, but doing his best to… ignore Shiro, essentially. It wasn’t his conversation to listen and join in on- and it was easier to focus his attention elsewhere. Like on how he just wanted to shower, eat, and then… check on everyone before he put things away. They’d been gone for nearly two weeks- it was a _long_ time for them to be gone, and a lot of time for things to have broken or gone awry.

Or, on the reunion of Lance and Allura.

They embraced, nice and sweet, and Allura all but jerked back when, presumably, Princess moved.

Hunk couldn’t stop the bark of bemused laughter as Lance bamboozled Allura with their new cat- even as the bark of laughter stole his breath and shot agony from his toes to his shoulders. He watched Lance steal Allura away, hamming up his injury on top of their cat, and guide her back towards the building proper. With the two of them busy, his attention slid to Romelle.

His eyes wandered to the woman making a firm beeline for him, her dignity keeping her from sprinting like her face seemed to say she wanted to. 

Romelle was definitely not who he expected to see heading down the lawn and pavement towards him. Well- maybe not. She’d come to see him when he’d been out digging graves- and this trip out had been just as much about getting him ‘time off’ as it was about a supply run. Of course she’d be concerned and worried enough to come out. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape, as hungry and pained as he was, to be socializing too much. Though- he wasn’t exactly going to snarl at her.

However… Keith’s words lingered in his mind, poisonous barbs dug deep into long dead brain matter. His eyes were shadowed as he shuffled on his feet, his hair keeping his gaze from being immediately noticeable. 

He had to wonder… if Keith was right. Deep down, Hunk wondered if any of her friendship was because she genuinely liked him, or if it was because she felt she _owed_ him for saving her and treating her like a decent human being. Perhaps it was even pity, and his situation had made her pity him.

Hunk didn’t know. Some part of him honestly didn’t care. A friend was a friend- even if it wasn’t true and honest like Lance, who was his friend before, and even after he’d turned, a friend was something he could and would cherish because he didn’t have nearly as many as his heart craved. He’d also lost too many. In the permanent way.

Still, something in his chest- something that wasn’t the unending hunger that had his mouth watering at the smells around him- had him greeting her with a tiny smile as she reached him. 

Stopping in front of Hunk, Romelle bit her lip. When the trio hadn't arrived when they said they would be back, and Pidge, Allura, and Shiro all began to worry about the living members, she took to worrying about _Hunk_. Sure, it wasn’t likely he would get killed and eaten by zombies, but that didn't mean something couldn't happen to him! 

What if he got shot mistakenly by some survivors thinking he was one of the brainless undead? What if he was crushed under a truck and couldn't move, doomed to starve for all eternity? What if he was pecked to death by crows? What if Lance and Keith had gotten over run and he blamed himself so much he never came home; or _worse_!? 

No matter how irrational, or how crazy, her mind continued to spin, keeping her up at night until she was making stupid mistakes in the kitchen. When she was finally kicked out and told to get rest, she couldn't, finding herself gravitating towards the guard towers to look out for him and his group instead. 

Now he was here, in front of her, and most importantly- _okay_.

“Hey,” he said, voice dropping a couple octaves as he swallowed, aware that ‘hey’ was probably the lamest thing ever to say to someone as a greeting when covered in long dry zombie viscera. His honey-amber eyes softened a little as he looked over her, checking to make sure she was okay. “It’s good to-”

The second he opened his mouth, she couldn't hold back. She didn't care about the dark stains of gore on his shirt. She threw her arms around him and-

His chest was exploding into spears of white hot agony. His words cut off with a gurgle as her fingers slid between his back and the backpacks he carried, her clean front pressing to the dried and crusted blood soaked shirt he wore- and then, crushing in against the swollen skin of his chest and ribs.

There was no resistance to his front, the broken bones and bruised black skin caving inwards into his organs against her touch. It took extreme effort to keep his hands in a tight fist at his side to keep his touch from being too rough as his throat tightened with a whimper.

"Oh!" She gasped. 

There was something distinctly _horrifying_ when you felt a chest shift like liquid against you when you expected hard flesh and instead felt it cave in, along with the grating sounds of bone on bone. She recoiled as sharply as she had come, staring at his chest with wide eyes. 

"You're hurt!" She exclaimed. Surprised, because a zombie whimpering was not a sound she had grown accustomed to hearing, and surprised because Hunk didn't even _look_ it.

Keith cringed a little in sympathy for his friend. Pidge and him had been close enough to hear that whimper. "Yeah," He replied. "We encountered a variant, and it messed him up pretty good."

Hunk couldn’t respond to her immediately, so he was glad that Keith was taking over for him. As soon as she’d stepped back, his arms had curled defensively around his chest, and he’d slowed his breathing, taking measured breaths as everything tried to settle back into place from where she’d once more unsettled it.

"Variant?" Romelle asked, surprise turning into concern. 

"Yeah, uh..." Keith loosened his hold on Pidge a little. "Like a mutation, I guess."

Pidge didn’t let him go, but she seemed keen to let him flounder for a bit in trying to explain. Petty revenge for making her worry- she got payback in the oddest of ways. She kept an eye on Hunk while he spoke, watching the large zombie sort of curl into himself like a wounded turtle.

When Romelle still looked unsure, Keith looked impatient and tried again. "Think Resident Evil. You know how those creepy ones with the long tongues are different then the normal zombies even though they're all infected with the same thing? That's what it's like."

Romelle still didn't look like she understood.

Keith sighed, a hard noise in the depths of his chest. "Pidge can probably explain it better…”

"No, no, it... It doesn't matter," Romelle replied, shaking her head. She turned her gaze back to Hunk, hands against her chest as if afraid to touch him and cause him to whimper like that again. "We need to get you your chest wrapped immediately," she said. "And then get you something to eat."

The mention of food focused his mind from the pain, briefly fixating his being on just one thing- food. The unending hunger in his belly was demanding that he feed on flesh, on fresh human flesh, still warm and oozing, to appease it and make his body heal. His hair ruffled, tensing up along his scalp, but his attention was distracted from it again, _thankfully_. His gaze flitted to Pidge as she made a noise to get attention onto her.

Pidge interjected with a soft cough, flicking her gaze to Romelle and to Shiro- who likely had absolutely no desire to be around any sort of discussion, but he was out here anyway. She had to give him kudos for toughing it out and not simply plugging his ears and walking away- she’d listened to Keith talk about what Hunk had said, and apparently, Shiro had listened to a little bit of it. He had come out and was taking steps forward. 

“Actually,” Pidge commented, “it _does_ matter, at least a little bit. Variants are deviations from the normal zombies. They’re bigger, tougher, harder to kill, and usually can pack a mean whollop if they can get a hold of you. They’re also, generally speaking, fairly rare outside of big cities and towns with a population larger than a couple thousand. We’ve only had.. probably a dozen, maybe a bakers dozen, in all the time we’ve been here at Altea. I want to say, mathematically, one in every ten thousand zombies is a variant- but that’s not to say that normal zombies can’t evolve given enough time. In theory, anyway- I’m rambling. Back to Hunk...” She looked at the hunched man, sympathy in her hazel eyes as she listened to his shallow breaths. 

He grunted as she spoke his name, but wasn’t quite up to speaking yet. He was looking at Romelle again, his brows pinched, and he gave a tiny shake of his head finally now that Pidge had yammered and gotten his mind off of food. He didn’t need bandages- he hadn’t had the others bind his ribs because it would be a waste of medical materials. It was why they’d bound his throat with his soiled shirt instead of using actual bandages when he’d been hurt by Shiro back at Zarkon’s compound. He’d heal quicker than any human- it was a waste to spare medical supplies for him.

“Hunk is _also_ a variant.” Pidge continued. “Despite what Keith said about them being ‘infected with the same thing’, it’s not _actually_ true. Yes, the base virus is the same, but his virus is mutated, different than the others. The mutation in the virus basically makes it a whole different strain- like the fact that there’s multiple strains of Mono that you can catch. Theoretically, his virus, and other variants, are sort of like… the Alpha virus. The supreme virus- having mutated into something better to keep the host surviving.”

The stronger the virus, the stronger the host. And the stronger the host, the more likely they were to be able to successfully hunt. Pidge had theories upon theories with that- and her biggest one was with Hunk in particular. 

“However, I want to say that Hunk’s is probably superior. He’s tougher, stronger- harder to kill, theoretically. But, his virus left him _aware_ , and if he wasn’t friendly, that would make him a distinctly terrifying opponent.” Many would-be raiders could agree if they were still alive- it was hard to kill a zombie who couldn’t be killed with bullets, blades, or bludgeoning, because he was too smart to leave his head unguarded. “We haven’t found any other variants like him- but it’s rare to find two variants that are alike, unless they’re directly related, so to speak.”

And ‘related’ in zombie terms meant that the variant had turned the human that became the second variant. Though sometimes, two siblings could mutate with the same kind of virus because of shared genetics influencing how the virus changed. Usually, the second variant was even more advanced than the first one- tougher, more evolved, larger, faster, all around meaner. Like the difference between a bull shark and a nurse shark, so to speak.

Pidge had studied a lot of Zombies and had a lot of theories, proven and unproven.

In theory, Hunk’s family might have ended up like him if he hadn’t have put them down before they could fully some to and feed. But… Hunk didn’t want to think about that. He really, really did not. He didn’t like to think about what could have been, what he might not have lost, if he’d… if he’d have waited, and thought, instead of acting in a dazed stupor of panic.

Hunk sucked in a shallow breath, and closed his eyes to hide the ghosts that reared their ugly heads. 

"Variants…"

Keith looked over at Shiro when he heard him mutter, and furrowed his brows at the look on his face. He was frowning deep, and eyes far away. Shiro seemed thoughtful, and perhaps a little distressed, hands slowly, and gingerly, working over the soft fur of Kosmo's neck as the dog stood by his side. 

When those eyes cleared, they were dark again in that same ice cold way that Keith had been so shaken up by before, back when the prisoners had first made their trek to Altea. Keith found himself taking a sharp intake of breath when it was focused on Hunk again, as if it was a blade trying to slice Hunk in half where he stood. 

"You mean he’s better at killing," Shiro’s lips twisted into a sour pucker.

Romelle glanced back at Shiro at that, her expression a little guarded and hard to read. 

Keith pursed his lips, unsure of what to do.

Pidge’s mouth opened, and she floundered for a moment on what to say. “Well- theoretically yes, except Hunk is incredibly squeamish. He gets grossed out over _bugs._ ”

There was a moment of tension in the air, where Shiro stood his ground, firm on his point and against the look he was getting from the blond. But, Romelle seemed to think better of fighting. She knew, of course. She had been in those kennels with Shiro. She had seen him dragged into the arena, heard the compound scream his name, had seen him come back covered in dark blood and with a hollow look on his face. He had a lot he was working through, and she couldn't blame him, even if he was wrong.

Besides, right now she didn't want to fight. It would just be a waste of precious time that she could give to taking care of Hunk. So, she decided, to let it go. 

Swallowing, Romelle finally turned her gaze back to Pidge. "No, that's not what I meant," she replied. "Of course I know learning about variants is important, just..." She trailed off, and looked right back at Hunk. "... I didn't think it was _as_ important as taking care of him right now."

Pidge looked eager to get off the tough topic that Shiro had brought up. She had no desire to foster his cruel words usually barked at Hunk- so she opened her mouth, mind whirling to go right back into a lecture about Variants.

“Pidge...” Hunk rasped gently, interrupting her before she could open her mouth to begin the next part of her educational rant. He swallowed, clearing his throat briefly, before lifting his head. He pointedly straightened his back, taking a deeper breath even as it made his ribs creak. “Ranting.”

Pidge gave a sheepish shrug, her fingers worrying at Keith’s clothes as she hugged tighter to him, nervous about anything Shiro might do. “Sorry. You know how I get when it comes to variants.”

Hunk did know, and he gave her a fondly lopsided smile, a knowing look on his face. He didn’t look at Shiro- didn’t acknowledge him or his baiting words. “I know. I also know you like for us to bring you samples of variants- I’m sorry we didn’t get you any from this one. All we’ve got is dried blood.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Pidge perked up a little, looking him over to see where he might have it stashed. “Having the three of you alive is worth more to me than a sample of tissue. Where’s the blood, and is it contaminated?”

“Probably by flecks of mine.” Hunk admitted, tongue flicking across his lips- which were stained with fresh flecks from his shallow breathing. Internal bleeding was a bitch- breathing made everything unpleasant, and sent up little tiny flecks of blood onto his lips, or down his chin if his insides got particularly stirred up. “All this blood on my shirt isn’t mine- more than ninety percent of it belongs to the variant, probably eight percent to some shamblers, and then the rest is probably flecks that I’ve shed. Keith kinda killed the variant while it was trying to turn me into a pancake.”

Watching Hunk struggle to breathe and talk had her stepping foreword unconsciously. Though, Romelle seemed unsure of what to do with her hands when she got there, gazing first at his chest with concern, before flicking her eyes back to his mouth. Her skin paled as she watched the trickle of dark blood dribble down his lip from his rasping breaths.

“That explains why your ribs sound like a toothpaste tube full of marbles.” She waved a hand. “That’s fine. Do you mind if I have your shirt? I can clean it when I'm done with taking all the samples. And yes, I’ll wear the gloves while I clean it.”

Hunk gave her a flat look, fingers tightening on the straps of his backpacks. “ _Now_?”

“No, next year.” She huffed sarcastically, shifting herself against Keith so she could have one free arm for carrying things. “ _Yes_ now, before you go contaminate the samples further with your shower.”

Hunk’s eyes flicked to Shiro, and then to Romelle, before he looked at his feet. He really didn’t want to undress and let anyone see just how messed up his chest was. Keith grew guilt complexes like a garden grew weeds, and Shiro already thought he was a monster- Pidge had seen him with worse wounds, but Romelle… He really didn’t want her to see just how wrong his body was. Seeing him with half healed wounds was one thing- seeing his skin entirely black with bruising and warped by swelling and broken bones was not something he wanted her to witness.

“How about I leave it inside the building for you instead, okay? Just right inside the door, on the coat hangers.” Hunk suggested lightly, his fingers tightening on the straps of his packs. “I’ll set my packs there too- except the books.” The book bag also now had his personal things in it from Keith- the butterfly clip which Hunk had requisitioned for Romelle, a small finger full of hair ties for his usual kitchen help, and two hair brushes. One for him- a small comfort for himself to indulge in- and one for Romelle, like he’d silently vowed he would get.

Even though he hadn’t been the one to get it.

"Are we really discussing this right now?" Romelle asked, looking back at Pidge with pinched brows. "You can have the shirt later," she said. She placed her hand on Hunk's arm gently. "I'm getting you inside and taking care of those ribs. Which means _yes,_ I'm binding them until you heal, regardless of what you say."

“Yes ma’am.” Hunk mumbled.

Both Keith and Shiro seemed surprised by Romelle's determination. Keith was beginning to think that maybe, _maybe_ , Lance had been right, and he had read the situation wrong. Then again, he wasn't very good at reading social situations to begin with.

Pidge heaved a put upon sigh, clearly theatrical and hinting she’d spent too many years in the same vicinity as Lance. Slowly, she nodded. “Alright. You take your books, and you go rest up. I’ll handle medical stuff with Allura, and I’ll get the pills and bandages put away.” A slow grin crawled up one side of her face. “I’d offer to help you, but I think you have your own personal nurse.”

Shiro, for his part, definitely looked as if he had some opinions on the matter, specifically about Pidge's tease, but wisely kept his mouth closed. He knew better then to invoke the wrath of a woman on a mission.

Unbelievably, Hunk still had enough blood floating through the rest of his body in order for his cheeks to darken that bruised black with a blush. “Pidge.” He huffed a warning. He shook his head at her, and waved a hand at Keith. “You’re on your own with her, Keith, Shiro. I leave you at her mercy.”

Romelle flushed a bright pink, but she didn't falter, pushing gently on Hunk's arm until he got the hint. She kept her hand on him as she began to walk by his side, sticking to his slow and stiff pace without complaint, deep blue eyes watching him every step of the way.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Ahhh, here you all are. <: Late again, but still on Monday! At least on my coast it is.
> 
>  
> 
> QUESTION FOR LAST WEEK: "Which of the voltron lions is your favorite lions? Why?"
> 
> Strider Answer: Honestly? Color wise, I like the blue lion. Blue is actually my favorite color though. However, I think for what the lion represents, my favorite lion is Yellow.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: This time, it's Hunk asking the question. So! Hope ya'll will humor the soft boy.
> 
> Hunk: "What is your absolute favorite fruit? If you have more than one, please round it up to top three. For instance, I while it's technically a berry, I absolutely love bananas! Contrarily, what is your least favorite fruit? Mine is hands down the avocado. Can't stand the taste or texture."
> 
> TLDR: "Favorite and least favorite fruits?"

Hunk glanced at Romelle, and inclined his head as he listened to Pidge laugh at his words and at Keith’s expense. He listened as she kept up with him, but he didn’t speak until he was out of earshot of Shiro. His tongue flicked across his lips, wetting them and trying to clean the black droplets of his leaking blood off. 

“Sorry I didn’t speak up earlier.” His voice was still low, spoken with the short bursts of air that he was sucking in through his sore lungs. “Binding my ribs is a waste of bandages, though.”

When he spoke, she looked guilty. "No, it's okay. I'm sorry I... I didn't know you were so..." However, that guilt quickly turned to frustration. "It's _not_ a waste," she argued. 

He bit his lip, and glanced away. “Alright.” That’s all he had to say on that. “But...” His head tucked down, and he sighed. “If you wouldn’t mind tossing on a pair of gloves,” which were kept everywhere in case of a contamination issue, “I could use your help checking my back to make sure there’s no gravel in my skin when I’m in the bathroom. You don’t have to, though- no obligation.”

Hunk needed to rinse off before he could go the kitchen though- contamination, and he hadn’t had a shower properly since the day they’d left.

At least Hunk was allowing her to do _something_. "Of course," she replied, without a moment’s hesitation. Honestly, she hadn't even thought to look at his back, her eyes so focused on his face. 

The back of Hunk’s shirt was torn, and there was a little bit of blood staining the back. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with some thread, and it wasn’t visible under his load of supplies- but it was necessary to make sure he wasn’t going to heal gravel under his skin when he went to the kitchen to get his ration of human.

Once he was inside the doors, Hunk shrugged off his packs. He set the books and personal belongings to one side, and the rest of the bags he had on the opposite wall. Once he was sans all of his heavy gear, Hunk’s body thanked him by aching just a small bit less.

She stepped back once they were inside, giving Hunk the room he needed to start peeling his shirt off his skin.

Still, true to word, Hunk tugged his shirt off like he said he would for Pidge, and tucked it onto the rack where she would see it. Then, he stooped stiffly to pick up the bag of books.

Hunk’s back wasn’t too bad- and there didn’t appear to be any gravel in it from a first glance, though there was plenty of glass and other debris. It was clear he’d been crushed onto his back and slid against pavement, so there was no telling what was below the surface. The mark on his back wasn’t unlike road rash from a victim in a motor cycle accident- though not as severe. 

The road rash had her throat tightening. It wasn't as bad as looking at living skin, but it still looked like it hurt, and she felt it like a squeeze around her heart. Romelle thought that there probably was a lot of gravel in there, and it was parts of his body that he wouldn't be able to reach. Even if she had been disgusted, she wouldn't have been able to deny him.

However, when he turned around… Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling the noise that bubbled up in her throat. His caramel skin was black from the rim of his pants up to the swell of his pectorals, his ribs swollen and warped, slightly sunken on one side where she’d pressed them in accidentally. If he had been living, he would have died from whatever variant it had been that pummeled him. There was no doubt in her mind of that fact. It horrified her knowing something like that existed out there. 

And despite the horrors of the apocalypse that she had witnessed, and the dead and rotting corpses that she had been forced to fight every day of her life, Romelle felt her stomach lurch at the sight of it contorted and gnarled like it was. She wanted to look away, but she forced herself not too, eyes growing moist as she forced her trembling hands back down and swallowed the bitter taste of bile in her throat. 

The worst part, however, was that he was so pale he looked even more like a corpse, like all of his blood that kept him ‘flushed’ of sorts had rushed elsewhere in his body. He needed water to replenish that, and food to heal.

A normal human probably would have been dead- but Hunk, the undead monster that he was, had trekked home looking like the victim of a particularly nasty hit and run. There was a reason he didn’t want everyone to see what he looked like. It was alarming, that their tank could get hurt so bad out on a supply trip.

Disheartening, almost- it was never a good thing to see the powerhouse beaten down, even when the powerhouse was technically mortal too.

“I need to wash off before I can eat.” And the hunger was deep and unending in the ways only a zombie who hadn’t been fed in nearly a fortnight could feel. But, Hunk had priorities. He had to wash himself clean before he could reward himself with food. “But, I have a change of clothes in the book bag, so I don’t need to go to my room.” He mumbled softly. He didn’t want to take the stairs too many times yet.

"O-okay," she managed, her voice a little strained. Romelle wanted to argue, to tell him to eat so he could start healing as soon as possible because seeing him so disfigured and so in pain was killing her. However, she knew how important it was that he kept himself and his kitchen clean. He didn't want to contaminate anyone, and that _was_ a fair concern. So, she went along with it. 

Taking a sharp and shuddering breath, she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the blurry tears in her eyes, finding her courage again even as one of them escaped and trailed down her face.

“You, uh…” Hunk gave her a concerned look at the tears growing in her eyes. They stung at his nose, and he made a soft, worried sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t need to follow me if you don’t want to.”

She reached up to wipe it away quickly before she crossed the small distance between them again. Her warm and soft fingers were gentle as the touched his bicep a second time. "I need to get your back for you, remember?" She whispered, giving him a weak smile. 

It faded when her eyes flickered over his front again. Perhaps binding wouldn't help him at all. Not with a break like that. It would probably only cause him unnecessary pain as she tried to pull shattered bones back into place. So, she decided, she wouldn't fight him on that anymore, and instead focus on what she could do; which was help him clean up and get him something to eat.

“You don’t have to.” He reiterated gently, and his hand lifted to gently brush her fingers with his. His bicep was cold, but his fingers colder yet. With most of his sludge like blood congealed in his torso, there was little keeping his fingers ‘warm’. He was colder than normal, paler than normal- and boy, he felt like shit too. Hunk was a mess.

But her horror at what he looked like kept him from voicing any of it. She had looked and smelled like the sight of him nearly made her sick- and Hunk understood. He did. It burned in his chest, the reality that she was making herself so uncomfortable for him, and he didn’t like it- but he couldn’t force her to leave him alone. Her choices were her own.

At least… He hoped they were.

Hunk hefted the bag of books better up onto his shoulder, and paused when the handle of one of the brushes dug into his side. He pondered it for just a moment, before deciding to give it to her later. He needed to wash and soothe some of her worries before he gave her anything, or she’d just likely think he was trying to make light of his wounds. That’s about how Lance worked, at least.

The big zombie heaved a tiny sigh, one of his ribs audibly creaking back into place under his skin as his muscles flexed it back where it should be. “Alright. Just… Remember, you don’t _owe_ me anything, Romelle. If this,” he motioned to his body briefly, “ever becomes too much, just… You don’t have to stay. I understand. My… condition, isn’t something everyone can handle.”

He hoped, on some level, that she remembered he had an incredibly keen sense of smell. And while scenting her made his damaged stomach want to moan with the need to devour her, it also let him keep a tabs on her emotional standpoint.

Hunk turned, and shuffled down the hall. His gait was slower than his usual stride as he did his best to keep from jostling his torso too much.

It _was_ hard to handle, and she wasn’t going to lie to herself and say that it wasn’t.

There was something so nauseating about seeing a body, so mangled and crushed, _still_ moving. Her brain screamed that, logically he should be dead, making her stomach churn as she watched bones that had shattered like glass shift under skin, moved by the matching muscles that stretched and bulged and caved in strange places. 

It was almost worse than watching a zombie run at her with lips shriveled back over it's teeth and it's guts dragging along behind it, skin ripped open into gross weeping lacerations and ulcers. That was par the course of an apocalypse. That, she was _used_ to seeing. 

Hunk was someone she cared about. Someone that, to her, was more alive then he was dead. So to see him like this? This was _horrible._

Her empathy for him made it worse. She couldn't imagine how much pain he must be in to be walking so slow. Just imagining it being her muscles and bones that were moving and creaking like what she could hear and see from him was making _her_ shudder. 

A part of her was anxious. A part of her wondered, as she walked beside him at the pace he set, if maybe she couldn't handle this. Maybe she should call someone else... But who else was there? No, she _had_ too, and she _wanted_ too. Hunk had gone with Lance and Keith. He had returned with much needed supplies along side them. He had returned with his own injuries from their harrowing adventure. He deserved the same rest and care that they did, regardless of his _condition_.

Pidge called her his personal nurse… It had been meant as a tease, something to fluster them both, but it was clear that when everyone was injured, there was no one who could step up to the plate. So be it. If no one else was going to do it, then she would take the job. 

"Thank you, Hunk," she started finally, and she was truly and sincerely grateful that he would be so considerate of her feelings. However... "but, I'm staying."

He smiled softly, just the smallest twitch of his lips, and huffed the smallest laugh. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” He murmured in reply to her, though something in his chest eased.

Romelle had learned a lot from Pidge while Hunk was away, but not enough. She knew he used food to heal, and she knew that he was always hungry. Pidge had told her about zombie frenzies, too. But those were just _facts_.

Hunk had expressed understanding when she had first come here, about her deep and unrelenting _hunger_. The feeling had long since gone away, but the memory still stung in her mind, and the remnants still messed with her eating habits. And it was the first time that she realized Hunk must feel the same way, except his was _never_ ending…

It wasn't enough to just know the facts. Romelle wanted to help him, which meant she needed to understand him. She wanted to know how it felt, and what he longed for. The facts meant nothing to her if she couldn't help him.

Hunk, very, very obviously, ignored the kitchen when they passed it. He held his breath too. Though the freezer room only smelled of cold and not the food inside, Hunk was bordering on ravenous. Years and years of practice kept his body trained enough not to be scrambling to fill his mouth, but it was a _near_ thing.

A hungry zombie was a frantic zombie. When he’d said he knew the hunger Romelle had talked about, he wasn’t lying. When he was well fed, it wasn’t so bad, so demanding- but when he’d gone nearly twelve days between meals and his body was in desperate need of medical attention, his hunger was intense and deep.

Her hand was still on his bicep, and when she noticed how his breathing stilled as they passed the open doors of the kitchen, she offered a gentle squeeze, hoping he would take it as a steadying comfort like she intended. 

"We'll get you something to eat after I fix you up," she promised.

“Thank you.” He breathed, the sound of it short and low, but there. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize what she did- her touch, the soft squeeze to his bicep, pulled his attention from his stomach and back onto her. Which could theoretically be bad, having a hungry zombie focus on you- but she didn’t seem bothered by it. 

Between Romelle and his will power and intense mental focus, Hunk managed a soft nod for her as his boots kept clomping onward. He powered on, step by step, and he made his way to the showers.

Someone was coming out- one of the older residents- and she took one look at Hunk, and how his body was warped, and she made haste down the hall away from them without saying a word.

The older woman that emerged from the shower fled the instant she saw Hunk, and Romelle didn't blame her. He _did_ look horrible. But that's why she was here. 

His condition wasn’t something everyone could handle- most of the residents of Altea did not handle wounded zombie well.

Hunk would have heaved a sigh if it wouldn’t have hurt so bad. As it was, he only glanced at her retreating back, and then ducked into the showering room. He snagged a pair of gloves out of the dispenser nailed to the wall, and hung his bag up on one of the wall racks near the door. He took a moment to unzip a side pocket, pulling out a spare set of clothes he had packed just so he could change when he got home.

The gloves were wordlessly handed to Romelle, and then Hunk turned to go to his usual stall.

She took the gloves he handed her wordlessly as she followed Hunk to the stall.

“I won’t undress until you’re done, I promise.” He said, recalling how anxious she had been to have him in the showers with her- but how terrified she’d been to be alone as well. Hunk had seen the signs in the prisoners- and he hadn’t asked Romelle if she’d been raped by Zarkon’s men, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable either. “At least no more than I already am, eh? Pants and shoes stay on. No damage down there anyway besides some bruising from landing on my ass.”

She could feel her cheeks starting to darken as he spoke up, her memories surging forth and assaulting her. The last time they had been here together, it had been when they were showering, and she had definitely seen a _lot_ of Hunk. "Oh," she murmured, a little stupidly. 

He was a shirtless zombie- there _was_ a familiar irony in the situation. The last time they’d been in the showers together, he’d brought her here while he’d been shirtless. Well- his shirt had been cannibalized into bandages to keep him from oozing all over from his torn throat. Now, he was shirtless because his shirt was going for Pidge’s science. But, it was a familiar enough situation for a sense of déjà vu to tickle at the back of his mind.

Hunk shook his head, and tucked his clothing into the rack for holding them and keeping them dry. He glanced back at Romelle, and nibbled at his lip for just a moment, before turning his back to her and lifting his arms, planting his hands on the top part of the side wall so she had full access to his back for gravel removal. It was clear that lifting his arms that high hurt- his breathing went even more shallow as his muscles pulled across his ribs, and he couldn’t hide the tiny groan.

He pressed his face to the wall, and waited a moment until he adjusted to the pain again. It was an odd sensation, pain stealing your breath away when you were a zombie who didn’t actually need to breathe. He’d long since stopped having those instinctual panics when he couldn’t breathe- his body wasn’t supposed to breathe anyway. It was reflex to breathe, something to make him appear and feel human, and to let him speak. But he didn’t need to- and he could turn it off, and look just like the corpse he was.

It made a great trick for playing dead when would-be raiders shot him, thinking he was human and would die.

The first thing she looked at, ridiculously enough, were those shoulders. Wide and strong, her blue eyes trailed over them, watching the wide expanse of skin as he moved. Her eyes helplessly trailed along the muscles in his back as they flexed, and she felt a fluttering and stirring deep within her core. 

Until he groaned and his breathing turned shallow, and she realized with shame that she had been ogling instead of helping. 

She dropped her eyes quickly, chewing her lip. 

She was now face to face with his wound thanks to how he had positioned himself, and Romelle could clearly see where a few big chunks of asphalt and glass and other horrible things had embedded in his dead skin. Mostly, however, there were hundreds, if not _thousands_ , of tiny little pieces inside and all around that swollen tissue. There were so many that she couldn't tell if it was black around the edges from dirt or blood.

Romelle took one look at the gloves in her hands, before shaking her head and tossing them aside, where they hit the tiles with a small _pl_ _ap_. What did he expect her to do? Lightly pick out each one? It would take ages, for one, and cause unnecessary pain. She might not have read a lot of medical books like him, but thanks to her younger brother, she knew _some_ basics. For example, the best way to clean out gravel was with water and soap. 

When he could think beyond the pain in his chest, Hunk turned his attention to the blond who was so anxiously trying to dote on him. “Romelle...” He murmured, voice unfailingly gentle even if he wasn’t looking at her. “In order to check my back, you’re probably gonna have to do some digging. And that’s _okay_ \- don’t worry about hurting me. I’ll heal up in a couple days with food anyway.” With as bad as his chest was, his healing was going to be very, very slow. He’d be in pain for a while, but he didn’t say that to her. She probably didn’t know his various healing rates. “But if you can’t do it, that’s okay too. Rocks aren’t like bullets, y’know? They’ll work their way out eventually as I heal, and I won’t even need to ask Pidge for help.”

Pidge was not known for being gentle when it came to handling Hunk. When she dug out bullets, she cut what she needed to in order to get them. Which was why, when they’d returned from getting everyone, Hunk’s limp had been so bad. She’d snipped and nicked tendons that she needed to in order to pry out the bullets easier. Pidge knew he felt it- but Pidge lacked a certain measure of bedside manner when it came to someone who could just eat flesh and heal. It wasn’t that she was cruel- but she was curious.

She liked to test his capacity to heal, and it wasn’t meant with ill intentions. As a fellow person with an ever curious mind and the desire to know why his body did what it did and how his body worked, Hunk also understood her reasoning. Lance, however, did not like their methods. Lance generally thought Pidge was mean whenever they got too invested in experiments- like the time they had been investigating his tendons inside his leg instead of fixing them and letting him heal.

Lance was protective of Hunk though, like Hunk was protective of Lance. Lance had stood against Allura for Hunk on occasion- and that spoke measures, given just how deeply the Cuban had fallen for the woman they had rescued and reunited with her uncle.

Hunk shook his head slowly, and took a deep breath, flexing his fingers at the top of the divider wall as he settled in to let Romelle decide if she was going to check for rocks, or if she was going to let them fester out on their own.

Romelle had furrowed her brows at him and huffed through her teeth. Of course Hunk would pick the most painful and _inhumane_ way to go about this, as if his pain or comfort was not important. It frustrated her. "I'm not doing that.” She replied, her own voice firm. No way was she going to dig around in his open back like a barbarian!

“Okay...” He made a confused sound. “Then… What _are_ you going to do?”

Her blue eyes shifted towards the shower head, and just by looking, she could tell it wasn't detachable. She bit her lip. That meant there was only _one_ way for this to go... 

"Hang on," Romelle said, and turned to make a bee line towards the wall of soaps. 

He didn’t mind that she didn’t answer him- he’d find out eventually.

Though, being told to ‘hang on’ was a particular kind of irony when spoken to someone who had his hands up on the top of a wall divider, looking, hilariously, like he was hanging from it. Hunk flexed his fingers at the top of the wall, and gave his hips a tiny pointed wiggle that had his boots squeaking on the floor. “I’m a little too tall to ‘hang on’,” He replied with a bemused dorky spark of humor, “but alright, I’ll stay right here.”

At his comment, she made a soft sound of amusement, seeing the irony of it too. "You know what I meant," she replied. It was meant to be chastising, but was actually far too warm to be anything other than playful. 

She tried not to spend a long time, but she did take some time choosing a body wash that wouldn't have a strong fragrance, since she wasn't sure what Hunk liked and, unknowingly, being considerate of his senses. Romelle returned quickly, placing the body wash down just inside of Hunk's peripheral vision. 

One final reluctant look at his back had her mouth twisting in a grimace as she watched blood slowly creep out of painful looking scrapes, and she raised her hands to the little straps on her graceful shoulders. "I'm gonna... Um... Just don't look, okay?"

Really, she shouldn't be so embarrassed. It's not like they hadn't done this before. Everyone probably had, considering it was a communal shower. Still, she could feel her face burning again as she began to undress, pulling the sundress off her shoulders and then letting gravity pull it the rest of the way down until she was standing in nothing but the thin underwear and sports bra she had been given.

Hunk was intimately aware of the _exact_ moment that she slid her fingers against her clothing, and that compiled with her request for him not to look let him know exactly what she was up to. Hunk’s eyes slid shut automatically, his face turning to properly press to the wall so she wouldn’t think he was peeking, and he exhaled a compressed, gurgling sigh into the divider.

“I didn’t look last time,” He said softly, “and I won’t look this time, I promise.” But boy- his ears were definitely burning. Hunk wasn’t stupid- he knew what she was doing. She didn’t want to get her dress wet, and undergarments dried faster than the large swath of cloth that was her sundress would have. She was going to use the water to wash his back- especially since he’d heard the _plap_ from the gloves hitting the ground. His plan to pick the gravel out had not impressed her.

Still- that was a woman in her undergarments in the same shower stall with him. He might be dead, but he wasn’t stupid. She _was_ beautiful.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, shifting to put her dress in the little basket with Hunk's clothes. She was nervous, but she was also determined. 

Hunk's promise to her eased some of her apprehension. She remembered he had kept his promise before, despite _probably_ knowing Romelle had stared at him in the opposite stall with a mix of horror and fascination. Still, it had paved the foundation of trust, and Romelle was confident he would keep his promise a second time as she set to work. 

Her hand reached out, and warm fingers gently touched down on a safe swath of skin on Hunk's shoulder, letting him know she was there as she reached around him. Her side brushed against his own as she grasped the controls and flipped them on, starting the shower and letting the water cascade down on them.

Any blush that he might have had crop up from her torso brushing his as she leaned around him to turn on the controls disappeared just as soon as the icy waters cascaded down on his body and made him draw taut like a coil set to spring.

It was freezing cold, as expected. She nearly yelped a little at first contact, but stifled it, holding herself still when all she wanted to do was grasp her arms around herself tight and shiver. No, she had a job to do.

Blue eyes settled on the seeping cuts. The cold probably felt good on such swollen skin, she thought. "This might sting a little," Romelle warned him. She took the body wash and squeezed some into her palm, and then lathered until the suds were dripping down her wrists. 

Shockingly, she used her hands, trying to be as gentle as she could as she rubbed them over the wounds. She could feel the rough scrape of gravel and dirt as she did, but with the help of soap and the running water, it began to dislodge, coming free and getting sucked up by the drain at their feet.

Hunk shivered, unable to help it. The water was cold, and he was cold. The touch of her fingers was, as expected, excruciatingly uncomfortable. But, it wasn’t like Pidge. She wasn’t digging and scooping. Her hands were bare, the touch of her palms and fingers almost like fire against his skin. Goosebumps broke out on his flesh, his fingers tightening on the top wall and making the metal creak under the strength of his palms.

The soap did sting. It burned, actually, like fire across his skin. It was something like the soap was trying to clean out infection in his wounds. It was a lot like using rubbing alcohol. The problem was, Hunk was one huge walking infection- basically a walking plague trapped in a person. There was no way to wash it all out, or god knows, he’d have scrubbed all his skin off to do just that regardless of the fact that it would be agony.

However, the fact she was exposing herself to his raw infection by using bare hands was mind blowing. The only one who usually took such risks was Lance, and that was only because his best friend was beyond a diva, and he never had a hangnail or torn cuticle. Lance’s hands were flawless- unlike Hunk’s scarred, barked mechanics hands. Even Pidge preferred to use gloves when she tended to him, but if she didn’t, she’d go in bare handed. Mostly, Pidge didn’t like the way his blood stuck to things and stained things.

His shoulders shuddered under her palms, quivering with shivers that he couldn’t stop from rattling out of him, but his back was feeling better. The extra cold, while chilling his body and making him ache in other places, was numbing the pain there better than any anesthetic could for him. Literally too- Hunk had a sinking suspicion that drugs and medicine didn’t work on him anymore, though he’d never tested it and neither had Pidge. They didn’t have enough of a surplus to just _waste_ on him.

However, Hunk was experiencing some regret in the fact that his only good pair of shoes was utterly soaking wet. His pants weren’t so much of a loss. They needed washed anyway, as did his boxers, and he had a good set of clothes to wear after, but he’d have to go barefoot. Not that it mattered- but his feet got cold on the chilly prison floors.

Normally, the cold wouldn’t bother him so badly. It took a lot of exposure to get him to shivers, though it didn’t take much for cold to make him stiff. However, a lot of his insulation came from his blood- at least, it was what he could gather from what he’d learned over his years of living. Or not living, as it were. His blood ran at one specific temperature- and while it never really warmed up, it very rarely got colder either. It took below zero temperatures for zombies to freeze solid- but they thawed out, like the worlds most horrific Popsicle, and would go right back to being the monsters that they were.

All of his blood- or the vast majority of it since he had enough left in his skull to flush just slightly- had leeched into his chest cavity. Most of it would be recycled once he started healing, and his body would make more of the infected tar like substance that kept him running. Exsanguination wasn’t something that could kill zombies- but it was, usually, what made the ones out in the world slower, and it was another notch in what made him inhuman. With all of his blood in one central location, the rest of his body was colder, and more prone to chill because he didn’t have that insulating layer.

Her hands felt good on him though- they were warm, even though the cold water had dropped her temperature too. She felt like a little fire behind him, hot and alive and so very warm. He focused in on her hands as they worked their way down his back, and he didn’t even fuss when she had to manually remove the thicker slivers of pavement that had speared a little deeper into his flesh.

Washing away loose gravel was far easier, and less agonizing for her patient. Her gentle caress of fingers and thumbs with the aid of soap and water loosened the dirt and bits of smaller debris dried and caked into his wounds until the dark sludge of blood from being disturbed began to seep out and stain the suds. That was good though, she thought. Bleeding would help her clean the wounds. Or at least, that was what it did for living humans, and she had to assume it would do the same for the undead too. 

Though, there wasn't as much as she expected. She would have thought pulling open some of the deeper wounds would have produced more than a small trickle. She wasn't dumb. Most of it must be in his swollen chest. Which meant, if Hunk had been living, he most certainly would have _died_ out there. Whatever variant had managed to get him was _dangerous_. 

Her somber thoughts stilled when she noticed he was shivering and shuddering under her palms. Her skin was too. Regardless of how focused she was on trying to clean out his back, goosebumps were rising in her skin from the cold water pelting them from above. 

Romelle felt bad. She wanted to get them out as soon as she could. However, as her hands slid further down, and her fingers brushed the sharper edges of pavement that had plunged into his skin like massive splinters, she knew that she couldn't.

"I'll try to be quick," she murmured, wrapping her hand around one. She took a deep breath, before tugging, dislodging it with a sickening pop and letting it thump against the tile below and frowning when it only produced a small trickle of blood. 

Romelle stared at the hole it left on his back, feeling her stomach lurch. Yet, she steeled herself anyway. 

Romelle ran her fingers carefully around the wound first, clearing it of debris, and then slipped them inside of his cold flesh. She couldn’t stop her shudder, and was glad he couldn’t see her as she was left swallowing the bitter taste of bile and resisting the urge to press her other hand to her mouth.

Putting her hand _inside_ of flesh, dead or living, was just... She couldn't believe she was doing this! Her eyes misted, her nose wrinkling in disgust- she shouldn’t have been doing this at all. And yet, she was.

Romelle had to. She wanted to make sure she got it all, that the pavement hadn't snapped in half and that some wasn’t still lodged inside. It would only hurt him, and she didn’t want it to cause him unnecessary pain while he was healing. Despite her distress, she was trying to be careful. Hunk was undead, but he could still feel pain, and that's why she didn't want to just shove and hack at a seeping wound. 

Her breath of relief was loud in the air between them when she found nothing and retreated her hand back to the center.

There were other splinters. Most were smaller than that one. She didn't have to search around in the open wounds they left behind as she gently removed them. She only had to scrub over them with the softest caress of her thumbs to encourage the left over pebbles and dirt to be washed away.

Hunk’s teeth chattered from the cold water though. It was loud, especially to his ears. “I r-really need to get the hot water heater fixed,” He mumbled into the wall, feeling as her hands worked down from the middle of his back down into the curve of his lower lumbar. He had less small debris there and more larger, though how that happened, he didn’t know. “Maybe I’ll work on that on my down time. Might have all the parts- if not, a quick trip out on my own could get the last of what I need.”

"Hot water would be nice," she mumbled, her tone light with concealed laughter because she could hear his teeth, and her own joined him in a symphony of chatter. Though, it was gone the second it flickered to life. "But, you're not going anywhere until this is all healed up," she scolded. She, and the rest of Altea, had gone this long without hot water. They could wait a couple more weeks. 

He was relaxing under her hands though, thick, coiled muscles easing as she scrubbed. It hurt, yes, but her touch felt nice. Warm hands on him was nice. Perhaps, he thought, he was a little starved for contact. He got a lot of casual touch- hands, shoulders, arms, he had plenty of that from Pidge and Lance, and sometimes Allura, but the softer, more intimate touches, he didn’t get much of. And that, he knew exactly why.

After all, he’d had to burst Lance’s bubble about it on their way out of the city before shit had gone down.

Still… Getting his back scrubbed free of gravel was about as far away from sexual as sexual got, but it was still nice. It still soothed something in his soul. Hunk was a tactile person- when he’d been alive, he had hugged, he touched, he didn’t care if it wasn’t socially acceptable among the masculine community to be so touchy-feely. Lance and he had spent many nights cuddled on the couch gossiping and watching television dramas and romantic comedies, and crying together like the dorks they were, much to his roommate’s baffled ire.

His roommate hadn’t liked romantic comedies, but he’d suffered them all the same.

It had to be painful, what she was doing, but she could feel his muscles relaxing under her. Romelle was both touched and wounded by it. She could imagine, being what he was, that this was probably the only kind touch he received now. Unconsciously, as that thought dampened her thoughts, her fingers began stretch out, brushing over more skin then was probably necessary. She was caressing his back as he melted under her touch and giving him more without having to be asked, and without thinking twice. 

She thought his back was clear, when her palm brushed over something solid. Romelle didn't have a chance to look it over, however, because as her fingers brushed it, it dug deeper for just the smallest instant, sliding through flesh and jabbing at him. It pressed into something in his body, and a lightning bolt of pain slid from his lower back down to the heel of his left leg, making him give a tiny cry of pain and drop like a stone.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: Alright :) Next chapter for ya'll. Enjoy~
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: TLDR: "Favorite and least favorite fruits?"
> 
> Strider Answer: I absolutely love honeycrisp apples and bananas. As for least favorite fruit... Honestly, dragonfruit is just nasty? It's like a fruit tried to be a kiwi, but failed, so it's just sadness and seeds everywhere.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: Another question from Hunk!
> 
> Hunk: "Is there any place in the world that has exotic cuisine that you would like to try? I'd love to try Quandong fruit or Witchetty Grubs from Australia! Though, not raw grubs. I've heard they can be barbequed, and barbeque can make anything good!"

He went down like a marionette with it’s strings cut, his knees folding and clattering on the hard tile with a sharp crack of bone against flooring. His hands slid down the wall, his body slumping painfully forward with nowhere to go. He hugged the wall, arms sliding down from their upward position into a more hunched and pained one, like a wounded animal that had been kicked.

Romelle blinked, hearing his cry of pain. For a moment, she didn’t understand why he’d hit the floor, had crumpled like someone had cut his legs out from under him with a blade. Until it registered all at once, and suddenly she took a sharp breath. "Hunk!" Romelle dropped down beside him, pressing her hands to his shoulders gently. "I'm so sorry!" She cried, watching him gasp for breath, horrified at seeming him curled up and so fragile. "I didn't see it, I…"

It took him several gurgling breaths before Hunk could think again beyond the blinding flash of agony through his leg. Hunk found himself on his knees, groaning into the wall like a man that had just stuck a fork in a light socket. Only his right leg wanted to immediately respond- the left one was limp, sprawled out and tingling with lingering shocks of pain.

Hunk coughed faintly, a wet noise from how his chest had compressed, and pushed his face back from the wall using his arms. He was unsure just how long he’d been unresponsive to whatever she was saying, but he probably should respond.

“I’m okay,” He mumbled, “I think. Maybe. Feels like someone got me with a cattle prod. I think- I think that piece of gravel or shrapnel, whatever it is, it prodded a nerve. My left leg is in a fit.” His forehead pressed back into the metal wall, remembering his promise not to look. His eyes had opened, but he hadn’t been processing anything. “I think...” He closed his eyes again. “I think that’s the area of the sciatic nerve. It fits the pain- probably pressed in on it, irritated it. S’okay. Just gotta let it… stop doing what it’s doing, and I’ll be good.”

Her little relieved breath was quiet when he finally replied, horror replaced with guilt. "I didn't know," she whispered. Her eyes glanced down at his limp and trembling left leg, before flickering back up. Slowly, she lowered her knees to the tiles to kneel beside him, squeezing those shoulders under her palms gently.

“S’okay.” He said again, brows tightly furrowed. “Think I’ll just… kneel right here though, if that’s okay with you.”

He was hurting- a lot. And this way, the water was soaking his hair, and he’d have less he had to do when she was done. He also wasn’t sure he could pull his leg up under him yet. Not until the tingling pain had stopped, and he could feel his limb again. Not even the cold was numbing his leg entirely, though he was shivering nicely. At least he wasn’t stiff yet. Or, maybe he couldn’t feel his stiffness.

"Yeah, of course," she replied. Her brows furrowed, and she glanced back down at his leg. She wished she could help, but she wasn't sure what she could do. So, Romelle stuck to kneading those shoulders in her hands in a kind way, as if trying to release the tension that seized his body when he dropped.

Slowly, under the gentle kneading of her hands, his muscles began to relax again, uncoiling from the tense wires they’d become. When tense, the zombie’s muscles felt almost like corded steel under her hands, telltale of the enhanced strength death had given him. It was easy to forget that Hunk, too, was also a variant just like the monster that had bashed his chest in like an overly ripe pumpkin. He didn’t act like it, or even look like the bloated, festering monsters that honed in on anything living outside the walls.

What he appeared to be was human- a wounded, pained human, who bled the black and long damned blood of the enemy.

His hands slid from their defensive positions guarding his chest, and eased down the wall. The arm closest to the piece of shrapnel reached around behind him, moving so slowly that it looked like he was made of molasses- and his fingers closed around the piece of debris stabbing into him.

He yanked it out with a quick motion, and dropped it to the floor, a soft, pained groan leaving him. However, once it was out, sensation flooded down his leg as the nerve was released from the pinch it had been squeezed in. The agony bolting up and down his leg began to fade, and, eventually he gave a soft flex of his toes in his boot, prompting a wet squelch from the water that had flooded down into his shoe.

Feeling was there, like pins and needles, if the pins were knives and the needles were razors. But, it was progress, and it wasn’t lightning and an inability for his muscles to properly function. He would take that over feeling like someone had jammed a cattle prod up his ass and turned it on high.

She wasn't really sure if what she was doing was helping at first. The muscles were harder than steel, and barely pliable under her thumbs. It felt like Romelle was trying to massage the tension out of an armored truck, especially after he removed the offending piece of asphalt stuck in his back. 

But, after a few tense seconds, she felt them start to give, felt his body slump and ease into her ministrations. He was tired, which was to be expected, but at least he was no longer in pain.

“There,” He breathed the softest noise, and pushed back a little from the wall. Hunk ended up just folding his legs, sitting there on the floor under the spray as his pants and boots squelched against the floor. His entire body simply… sagged downward, his shoulders limp and lax under her hands as his head bowed towards the floor.

He was tired. Not spiritually tired, not like before when he’d stepped out of line with Shiro without meaning to. Hunk’s body was tired. His body hurt, and constant pain was _exhausting_. But, Hunk couldn’t sleep it away like humans could. There was no ‘reset button’ for him. There was simply existing in his constant state of exhaustion until his body healed enough to return to it’s non-exhausted state. 

“Thank you.” He murmured at last. His eyes were closed still, but he ached to look at her, to express his gratitude properly. He kept still out of principle, even if he wobbled a little with how hard he shivered. “I think that’s the last of it. I just need to rinse off now, and wash my hair. I think I’ll be okay now.” He didn’t want to ask more of her than she was comfortable with- and while lifting his arms hurt, his shoulders hadn’t been more than bruised by the hit from the variant.

"Alright," she murmured, though her hands were hesitant to leave his shoulders until he started to pick himself up off the floor. Romelle stepped back, watching him rise, open concern on her face and still reluctant to leave, until she was confident he would be okay on his own.

“Why don’t you go grab a towel and warm up…?” Hunk hadn’t stopped to grab towels, he realized abruptly. “Shit, I didn’t pack a towel.” And all the towels were in the clothing room- way down the main hall. “Oh well- drip dry works fine for me.”

"I'll get you one," she finally murmured, turning to grasp her dress and throw it over her head. She didn't seem to care that the fabric stuck to her wet skin, or that her wet bra stained the cloth and almost made it see through. She was a woman on a mission as she hurried out of the shower, squeezing some of the water dripping from her thick blond hair. 

Hunk’s head rocked back on his shoulders, and he sighed. Water ran down his face, over his eyes, dampening his lashes and making his skin glisten as the filth of travel washed away. “I won’t be long, at any rate.” He continued. And then, Hunk moved, finally climbing back to his feet and stepping under the spray more firmly. He lifted his hands to his pants, unbuttoning the front as he kicked his boots off his feet. He didn’t let the sodden material slip down until he heard her take her dress and retreat.

Once he was alone and naked, his hands took the body-wash she’d gotten for him, and he used it on the rest of himself. He tried his best to muffle his sounds of pain as he washed his chest, the bones and flesh moving under his hands, but he wasn’t impervious to the soft groan or occasional reflexive growl that escaped before he could choke it back. He was intimately aware that he wasn’t alone, and as much as he was divided on his thoughts concerning her, Hunk did not want to scare her. 

Pain was a good motivator to hurry though, and Hunk didn’t linger, freshening up his whole body and then washing his hair.

The shampoo was something lavender smelling- floral, soothing, relaxing. The conditioner was something weirdly fruity and tropical. Normally, Hunk didn’t like to mix scents of such a differing variety, but he didn’t have it in him to walk to the wall and change it out. Besides, the tropical scented conditioner reminded him, oddly enough, of his grandmother.

His _Tinamatua_ had loved flowers and floral arrangements, and he couldn’t remember a time that she hadn’t smelled like she hadn’t been bathing in a sea of flowers. Well- actually, he could, but he didn’t like to think of that time.

It took him longer than usual to get himself fully cleaned. Hunk was usually the master of in and out, enjoying the cold spray no more than those with a heart to heat their blood- but he was moving slower than normal, and shivering hard slowed the process exponentially. He also took some time to drink a couple mouthfuls of water to help kick start hydration, since his body was going to be replacing a lot of fluids. 

Eventually he finished and he wrung the excess water out of his hair as he turned the water off. His back had stopped seeping, so he didn’t have a problem using his hands to slick the water off himself. He wasn’t splattering blood anywhere by doing so.

He didn’t bother with his shoes when he stepped into his clothes again. His clothes almost felt warm, oddly enough. They’d been sitting on cold metal, in a cold shower, but compared to the chill of his skin, they were almost like they’d come from a warm room. His new set of clothes consisted of an incredibly loose t-shirt with some faded meme printed on the front, and a pair of loose pair of what were once the pants for scrubs.

They were worn and soft though, and he tied the draw strings tight around his boxer clad hips before ambling out of the shower. His soiled clothes were tossed into the dirty clothes basket, and he had his soaked boots pinched in two fingers.

Thankfully, wet shoes were common at Altea. People washed their shoes in the shower with them all the time rather than track dirt and other filth across the prison and have to mop up after themselves. As such, they had little shoe drying racks in one corner of the washing room. There were a couple pairs of guard boots there. Hunk deposited his at the top of the rack, where folks would leave his boots be, and then he ambled his way towards Romelle.

Romelle wordlessly came to his side and tossed the dry towel she had gotten over his shoulders. Even if he was already dressed, it would still keep him warm. It wasn't much, but she could still see his body was trembling. It seemed even the undead were not immune to the cold. 

He curled into himself under the towel she brought him, using the towel to brace his shoulder as he tossed the book bag up onto it. It was odd to see Hunk curl into himself. He usually walked with a straight back, slightly slumped shoulders, and a quick gait to get where he was going. This position was purely defensive- an animal that had been hurt, and was trying not to get hurt again.

“Ready when you are,” Hunk mumbled softly to her, shuffling past her and out of the showering room. He glanced down the hall and at the kitchen door. Food awaited- and his mouth watered just thinking of the small ration of human he was going to get. Guilt hit him like a train of course- he shouldn’t be salivating like a beast over something that had used to be someone, even if that someone had been a monster. People were still people, and that monster had been someone’s child at some point. 

Everyone was innocent at some point, after all.

His bare feet were oddly silent on the tile of the hall as he ambled his way down. Hunk usually walked with his boots because everyone could hear him coming, and he couldn’t surprise anyone and get any random stabbings for it, but now he was barefoot and he couldn’t find it in him to step harder than necessary to make himself heard. So, he ghosted along, his steps almost predatory in his attempt to alleviate some of the jostling moving did.

Again, she stuck by his side, hand sliding to his back as she walked at his pace. Romelle tried not to concentrate to much on how the echoes of her own feet were the only sound they made as they took the short trip to the kitchen. Instead, she focused on how Hunk curled in, and how he looked so small and vulnerable. She felt it pull at her heart until she was worrying her lip in her teeth.

However, Hunk came to a stop outside of the kitchen, and didn’t step in. His eyes, bright with the desire to feed, narrowed in thought.

Eleven days and some odd hours was going to make it hard for him to remember his manners- and Hunk didn’t want to frighten her. However, he wasn't entirely certain he could stop himself at one or two pieces of human, when all he wanted to do was fill his stomach until he was groggy, and then go meditate.

He needed to eat. That was all Romelle thought about, almost desperate to see him healing. So much so, that she forgot all about just _what_ it was he would be eating until he halted in the threshold. 

“Romelle.” He said softly, to buy himself time to harden his control. Hunk called her name so softly, and it compelled those blue eyes up to his. “Watching me eat zombie is one thing. I… I have to heal- and this amount of damage is going to require several rations of… the _other_ meat.” He glanced at her, a shiver shaking his frame as he hugged himself just a little tighter. The light hit his eyes oddly, reflecting off of them like an animals eyes. “I know you want to help me- and god, I don’t know the last time someone out of my little circle helped me with anything so personal, so thank you, from the bottom of my heart, but… This is something you don’t need to see. It...”

He could watch the exact moment she remembered. Romelle's breath caught in her chest. Her eyes widened as the light reflected off his gleaming eyes unnaturally. Suddenly she was remembering another time, trapped by bars, a zombie before her snarling and reached out for her, eyes gleaming in a similar way. 

_Hunger_. Pure, wild, unimaginable, _hunger_. 

Her hand pulled away from his back in a sharp and sudden reflex that she couldn't control, instinct alighting her blood with adrenaline. A small shiver shook her frame as she forced herself to gasp. 

"I..." She started, and trailed off.

His lips pursed, and his gaze flicked away. A line of tension slid up his jaw as his teeth ground together, his cheek pulsing as he pondered what to say while licking his lips to keep them wet. “It’s different watching me eat my own kind than watching me eat something that was once someone like you. I’m not going to tell you no if you really want to join me, but… I was just going to grab some frozen chunks and eat. I don’t have it in me to sit down with plates and...” He waved a hand feebly.

He was too hungry to go through with his usual manners, to put it in polite terms.

Hunk looked away first, but she didn't. Her eyes remained on his face, watching the way his jaw contracted and tensed. She could see it and sense it, his shame and his guilt. He wasn't like the zombies that went after her mindlessly and ravenously. He didn't _want_ this. Romelle knew this already of course. She had seen it and heard him say it multiple times, and had heard Pidge say it too. But seeing it helped remind her when everything inside of her was screaming, _predator, run!_

Romelle was frustrated with herself. She couldn't believe she still had reactions like that. She was no better then those who shunned Hunk if even she couldn't see past the look of him; and he was so much more than just undead. He was kind, and beautiful, and gentle. 

Swallowing thickly, Romelle braced herself. She had seen zombies eat humans before. It wasn't an uncommon thing during the apocalypse. And though it filled her with terror, none of those zombies were Hunk, and the people that they ate weren't always _bad_ men like Hunk chose to eat. Somehow, it made it easier to swallow. 

Besides, if she could handle Zarkon, and his awful men, she could do this. 

"I promised," she croaked, and then cleared her throat, finding her bravery as she always did. Hunk needed this, and in order to accept him, she would have to embrace it. So, that was what she was going to do. 

"I promised," she repeated, stronger this time. 

Romelle stubbornly put her hand back on his shoulders, and then walked with him through the threshold.

Hunk really didn’t know what to say to that. She promised- and though her fear was pungent, thick in his nose and making his damp hair bristle up with the need to hunt, to feed… She was keeping her word. She was the one pushing him through the door in the kitchen, and gently ushering him from the kitchen to the freezer room.

Romelle was so… _Odd_. Hunk couldn’t even begin to understand her. Every part of her had been screaming prey- and everything in him had been bracing to have to deny the instinct to chase, which was harder and harder to ignore with how hungry his body was, no matter how much agony his torso was in. Yet, she didn’t. She just reaffirmed her promise, and just kept going.

What a woman, Hunk thought. What a woman.

Slowly, his gaze focused on the freezer, and he had to swallow a mouth full of saliva. “You promised.” He agreed finally. “But that doesn’t mean you need to make yourself uncomfortable for me, Romelle. Remember- you don’t… You don’t owe me anything.” He breathed. He couldn’t smell it through the sealed freezer door, but he knew it was there. Food, salvation from the endless starvation curling his stomach into screaming knots. “Any time you need to go, don’t worry. You won’t upset me.”

God, she had heard enough of that. 

"How many times have you made yourself uncomfortable for the sake of other people?" She countered, frustrated as she stopped them both in front of the freezer door. "I'm not going anywhere."

Romelle pulled her hand back as Hunk made a grab for the freezer, giving Hunk room, when she looked like she wanted to do anything but. She wrung her hands together in front of her instead, wiping them idly on her dress. 

“Okay.” He exhaled softly. “Okay.” Hunk stepped closer, and he lifted a hand out from under the towel. The other shifted the bag over his shoulder, rattling books and making them move to a better situated spot on his back as he opened the lid.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just dive into the freezer and feed as he looked inside and spotted the human flesh piled carefully on a segmented side of the freezer. As it was, he leaned in, and selected two hearty packages from the side labeled human, and then closed the door. It wouldn’t fill him, but the human would take the edge off, and once he was healed, he could fill up on zombie and be good to go for a while.

Hunk glanced back at her, before his eyes flicked down to the plastic wrapped packs in his hands.

His best friend had written little sharpie messages on them a long time ago. These were an older set of meats, some of them glistening with a kind of freezer burn that wouldn’t bother his body like it would a human. Lance hadn’t written to him in a couple years, since his personal sharpies had dried up and Pidge refused to give hers up. Hunk missed seeing the messages as he packed the meats away.

His _hermano_ never failed to write him nice things. Hunk wanted to savor them for as long as he could- but he didn’t have the patience to trade it out for a newer pack. Besides- it would still taste fine.

Lance took care when preparing the human meat for Hunk. Mostly, it was because Hunk was exactly as squeamish as he expressed himself to be. It was different when he was stitching someone up- that was someone living, someone in need of his help. He might be hungry, _constantly_ , and there was that beast in the back of his mind constantly whispering dark things that he should be doing, but Hunk wasn’t going to tear into someone under his hands for medicinal help.

Hunk couldn’t eat it if it looked human. They wasted a lot of flesh doing it that way, but Hunk, morally, couldn’t do it. Only when he was feral with hunger did his inhibitions go away- but when he was feral, he’d eat anything. Women. Children. _New babies_.

There was no human skin in the fridge, no fingers, no bones- nothing in there was easily distinguishable as human, except for the almost moldy looking zombie meat in it’s rainbow of grossly glistening frozen colors. Lance carved it all away until there was only smooth, red meat and the multiple hues of body fats that the human body contained.

In truth, the frozen slabs of meat in the plastic wrapping looked a lot like the elk and venison in the other freezers. There was very, very little distinguishing it from the meat that anyone else ate. Hunk’s nose could tell the cuts apart, but everyone else had to be careful when it came to the freezers. Which was why Hunk’s freezer was marked with a lot of sharpie, his name scrawled over it, and the human packages were written on with little motivational messages.

Romelle tried to offer a smile, but her nerves were firing. Anxiety was making her swallow when Hunk started to make his way back with neatly wrapped packages in his hands.

Hunk hesitated, for only a minute, before propping his hip up on top of the chest freezer and sliding himself on top of it. He sat down, his gaze fixated on his meal, and he took a painstaking moment to slip the bag off his shoulder again. When his burden was off of his shoulder, he curled his cold, cramping feet, and then unwrapped the first package.

She noticed the scribbled writing, but she couldn't make it out. Nor was she about to get close to try as Hunk settled down and began to unwrap his prize.

The smell of frozen human meat was, to other humans not unlike a cut of frozen elk, or pork. It was just cold, red meat. That was the only salvation for anyone who saw him handling it- unless they thought about it, at first glance, it just looked like he was handling raw elk.

To Hunk, however, it brought a smell that was practically a gift from above. It was deep and sweet, succulent and savory- it was everything someone could ever want in a meal. But… He couldn’t exactly describe it to everyone else like that. Not only was it unnerving, but it was… Well, something they couldn’t ever experience.

It also deepened his guilt. People shouldn’t taste good. But, he couldn’t change how his body worked. He could only live with how he was.

Hunk glanced at Romelle again, just a brief flicker of his eyes that highlighted the inhuman glow that came from the artificial lighting in the freezer room reflecting back out of his honey-gold orbs. 

Inhuman golden settling on deep sapphire, and Romelle suddenly had the vivid thought of a lion sinking it's massive teeth and powerful jaws into a zebra carcass. 

And then… He lifted the first chunk to his mouth.

Human teeth would never have been able to bite through a chunk of frozen meat like he was. Frozen meat was just like ice- incredibly, incredibly hard. But his jaw was not only no longer human, but also many times stronger, as were his teeth. He shore through the frozen flesh, tossing the first bite of cold and succulent meat back into his molars just long enough to soften it so it didn’t hurt his organs on the way down. And then he was swallowing, and tearing off another bite.

He tried to go slow- he did- but he was hungry, and it tasted amazing. Hunk tried not to show how much more he enjoyed it over the zombie- but it was hard. Zombie flesh was putrid, foul, stinking up the air with it’s wretched stench. Human flesh was nothing like that, and it showed. It was sweet and juicy and made his mouth water with his toxic saliva, and though he did his best to hide it, Hunk couldn’t really keep the enjoyment out of the smoothness of his brow, or the way it soothed the beast lurking inside.

It soothed the hunger- each bite was less ravenous, less frantic, than the last. By the time he was onto his second one, that frantic, beastly need to shovel his food into his mouth like a savage wasn’t something he had to ignore anymore- he could eat like a normal man.

As normal as a man biting out of a frozen human patty could eat, that was.

Hunk was, in some ways, breathtaking and incredible. In the same instant, he was also just as terrifying. To think he had once been human like her, and now he could tear and rip into frozen chunks of flesh as easily as tearing paper- it was a horrifying thought.

Romelle could see why Pidge liked to study him.

It was easier to imagine that the meat wasn't human when it didn't look it. Knowing though, that it was human, and watching the bliss overtake his face, watching the absolute _rapture_... Her disgust was hard to disguise. Romelle didn't want to be disgusted, but she couldn't help it, couldn't help the paling of her skin, or the morbid fascination on her face as she watched the meat get lifted to his teeth over and over again... 

She didn't talk. Romelle didn't know what to say. She doubted Hunk would even hear her. He was in quite a state. 

It was less savage than what she had seen back on the street, before Zarkon and Altea, when zombies had worked themselves into a frenzy and then ate themselves into a stupor. Hunk wasn't tearing desperately at flesh until blood caked under his nails or poured from his stained teeth, but he had that same look on his face they all did. 

And, amazingly, impossibly, Romelle actually felt sympathy. Having seen him struggle to swallow decaying and rotten flesh, and then to watch him now... Hunk thought of everyone else, and then was always struggling to do the right thing. 

No one was innocent anymore. Not in the apocalypse. She had done her own fair share of terrible things that kept her up at night sometimes. Survival had forced her hand, but she still tried her best to be good. And Hunk... Hunk was undead, but he did the same. In his own way, he was still human.

The warmth she felt in acknowledging that, was much stronger than her disgust, or her fear. 

And when he finished, he stopped himself from licking his fingers clean, and gathered his trash into his fingers. He went to glance at her again, to thank her for staying even though he hadn’t spoken to her during the process- but he found his throat dry and shame choking his chest.

He’d just sat there, devoured his rations like a starving _animal_ , and he had the gall to even try to look at her? Really- Hunk wasn’t sure where his head was. 

When he finished, she started to smile. She hadn't dared to approach Hunk when he had been in that state. She wasn't sure if he would have noticed if she had, but she didn't want to chance aggravating him accidentally while he was in a borderline feeding frenzy. She wasn't sure how it worked, and wasn't going to risk it. Now that he was finished, and his eyes seemed to clear of that inhuman gleam, she thought it safe to take a step. 

He sucked in a breath, ducking his head and shoulders, and wouldn’t meet her eye as he collected his bag and shuffled around her, heading out of the room so he could wash his hands in the sink. He had to dispose of his plastic to be washed, sanitized, and used again for wrapping up more human chunks as well.

The only good thing about eating human when frozen rather than fresh, was that there were very little particulates left in his teeth. Still… Shame churned in his stomach, making the cold meal sit like lead.

Romelle's hand froze where it had started to rise as if to help him settle back down on his feet. It was near instant how she felt her heart shatter in two, watching him walk away to clean up his hands like a dog that had just been kicked, tail between it's legs and slinking in _shame_. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, his back to her as he vigorously scrubbed his fingers with soap in the designated zombie sink. “For that. I wasn’t...” He frowned. “I wasn’t… myself. If you said anything to me, I didn’t hear it.” He admitted. “I was… Lost in feeding, I guess. I went too long between meals.” Which was a scary thought. Too many more days, Hunk thought, and he could have simply gone feral.

And then, it simply would have been a bullet for him, likely from Keith, and then that would have been that.

“I should be okay now. Well… Not now.” He mumbled, turning off the water once he was clean and then anxiously drying his hands. “But in a couple days. I should be fine.”

Her brows furrowed as she watched his back for a few moments, and then, slowly, she approached, her bare feet making a soft sounds on the kitchen tiles. Gently, as if not to startle him, she pressed her hand to his shoulder again. It was silly. With Hunk's enhanced senses there was no way he hadn't know she was coming, still, her sentiment was sweet and tender.

She let him turn off the water and dry his hands.

"Hunk, look at me," she murmured, trying to step into his space, gently trying to coax him to turn from the sink and into her. Her other hand boldly reached out, warm finger tips brushing along the freezing skin of his jaw. Romelle was so close to the dangerous zone, and yet, she boldly tilted his head to look at her, touched it with such tenderness and warmth; trusting in him not to bite her.

It was unclear if it was the touch to his shoulder, or the fingers that oh so boldly touched his jaw, but Hunk was putty in her fingers. Tension bled out of him, and he turned willingly, his eyes wide and deep as he met hers. His face tilted, unable to help it, and he pressed his cold cheek into the warmth of her fingers, a shiver stealing over his skin as he drank in the warmth of her touch.

He was focused on her, but not in a predatory way. She had his attention, enrapturing the anxious monster that had been worrying his hands with a towel like a child that had been caught doing something they perceived as naughty.

His eyes were deep. The inhuman gleam was still there- a reflection of the light off his pupils, not unlike shining a flashlight in the eyes of a dog. But there was soul there- it wasn’t empty and cold, starving for nourishment. It was the quirky man she’d grown to know, ensnared by the simple and gentle touch of her fingers on his jaw. And, almost starved for warmth, his face tilted more into her fingers.

But his mouth never opened- those inhumanely white teeth didn’t flash at her. He was calm, sedated- himself.

"You're right," she murmured. "I do have a choice." She smiled, softly, the shape of her lips tilting into something forgiving and warm. "And I choose to accept you." Romelle searched his face gently. "You do what you have to, just like the rest of us. You're not a bad person, Hunk, or a monster." Her smile had faded slowly into expectant frown, her hands drawing back and resting on her hips finally as she contemplated his words. "Now. For those couple of days, you're going to rest, right?"

It took him several minutes to even process that she was expecting an answer out of him. He must have been a sorry sight, the gleam in his eyes already missing the touch, but not going to request it again of her even if he ached for such a simple comfort. His eyes burned- but he wasn’t nearly hydrated enough to cry, or likely, the softly spoken words would have moved him to tears.

He hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone other than his immediate circle had said he wasn’t a monster, or a bad person. He also hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear it.

Hunk drew in a breath that had his lungs wheezing in his chest, and he rattled out a sad sounding sigh through his nose. He nodded. “Thank you.” His voice was soft- it wavered, with the tears he couldn’t shed. “I needed to hear that, I think. I don’t know if it’ll sink in, but… I needed that. Thank you.” His gaze lifted to properly meet hers. He nodded. “I imagined that between you and Lance, you’ll both make sure that I stay resting, eh? Or, Pidge will just lop me off at the knees to see if they’ll regrow.”

Finally, he cracked a small, lopsided smile. There was the barest hint of teeth there- a little bit of his quirky personality showing through, the warm, tender charm and care that glowed like the sun. It was clearly teasing. Pidge might slice his tendons, but she’d never actually remove his limbs- that wasn’t a risk either of them wanted to take, ever. But she would hamstring him to make him not walk- she had done it before too, when he’d needed rest and had been stubborn.

But that had been years ago.

“Definitely.” She smiled at him warmly. “Lets avoid all knee lopping until you’re healed though, right?”

Hunk straightened, his collapsed chest making the first of many, sickly crunches as his ribs began to work their slow, agonizing ways back to where they were supposed to be nestled at. He curled his free arm automatically around it, his brows twisting up into a grimace. “Right.” He agreed. “Anyway, I suppose this is probably the first time you’ve actually been into my room. So… Lets go, eh? It’s a bit of a jaunt, and the stairs aren’t going to be fun. I’ve got something I want to show you when we get there.”

Her gifts were weighing heavily in his bag- as a definite thank you for being an amazing friend. She seemed to know just what to say, it seemed, when he truly needed it- and despite her revulsion, she hadn’t left. She was a woman of her word.

Romelle was amazing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: And you can read the fully fleshed out story about Clarkdale in 'Is It Our Empathy?', just in case ya'll missed that being posted a while back :)
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: Hunk: "Is there any place in the world that has exotic cuisine that you would like to try? I'd love to try Quandong fruit or Witchetty Grubs from Australia! Though, not raw grubs. I've heard they can be barbequed, and barbeque can make anything good!"
> 
> Strider Answer: Because I've done so much writing for Samoan characters, and done so much research into their cuisine, I would actually love to try some of their native foods. Kopai sound super, super yummy. Even though I'm not a fan of coconut, I'd love to at least try Fa’apapa, and I absolutely want to try Pani Popo and Panikeke. Suafa’i has always looked fascinating to try, and i love bananas so I think I'll probably love it. 
> 
> There's another one... I think it's called a...keke pua'a? Not sure. It looks like a Samoan style pork bun though, and fuck it looks good.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: If Voltron was hosted in Westeros (Game of Thrones), who do you think would belong to what house, and why do you think so?

The jaunt up to Hunk’s room was longer than it usually was. The long halls seemed endless, and the flight of stairs felt like it took an eternity, even with Romelle bracing his elbow and giving him someone to lean on. And that, having someone to lean on, was an experience in itself.

It wasn’t new, so to speak. Hunk had gotten hurt before, but unlike the time he’d been human, becoming undead had sort of solidified his body weight into a more solid muscle bulk. He still had his layer of fat- that never seemed to leave, no matter how little he ate- but it seemed that his muscle bulk outweighed the rest of his body mass. It made him incredibly dense and less buoyant than he used to be.

Though, dead things still floated.

Regardless, Romelle was so small and petite. It was hard to imagine the blue eyed blond bracing his weight and heaving him up the stairs when he faltered. But, she did, hefting him up step by step with an encouraging look, and something like determination sparking in her eyes.

A woman on a mission was a force to be reckoned with, and Romelle was no exception. She was a tiny force of nature hauling him up to the second floor, one step at a time.

His room was a welcome sight, though a rough one initially. Hunk had forgotten that he kept his cell covered in blankets to keep the light out- it would be too dark for her inside, and too dark for her to even contemplate feeling safe with him. But, Hunk had a lamp inside- and he could handle pulling back one of the blankets turned curtain if he had to.

Hunk motioned her to wait just a moment, and he stepped inside to click the lamp on for her- and then, Hunk poked his head out to sweep the blankets to the side. “Come on in,” He murmured, welcoming her in. The harsh, artificial lights died down as soon as she was inside, and he dropped the blankets behind her.

His lamp was old, not using the energy efficient fluorescent bulbs that could cast a glow for many feet at a time. But, it illuminated his room- his bookshelf, dresser, the incredibly plush and comfortable chair next to it, and the bare bones cot with his small collection of pillows that he would be laying on. There was a small, folded table and a folded chair that Hunk usually sat on when he had guests to play chess with in his room.

Her first impression of his room was that it was so... _bare_. 

She knew, of course, during the apocalypse, decorating ones room wasn't a top priority. However, from what she understood, Altea had been a safe haven for years. That was why others, like Pidge and Allura, had begun to feel safe enough to start feeling the urge to make their cells feel more homey, marking their space as theirs by filling it with mundane things they liked. 

She hadn't been here long enough to acquire such items, but Hunk _certainly_ had. If anything, Hunk certainly deserved more than a flimsy looking cot, a small chess table, and a book shelf. 

Romelle squinted her eyes a little as she stepped into the dim lighting of Hunk's lamp, trying to get used to the light that wasn't as illuminating as the rest of the harsh light along the prison. She took a mental note of the thick curtains he had drawn back. It was a thought that never occurred to her, but made sense. 

Zombies were much more active at night, and seemed to prefer the darkness. It was what made them infinitely more frightening for someone like her, who could only see during the day, and who needed to rest her eyes when the sun went down. Zombies aggressively hunted humans when they were at their most vulnerable. That's why being outside the walls of Altea at night was so dangerous. 

Maybe, for a second, Romelle _was_ nervous. She was going against her instinct to come in here, a small and dark confined space with a creature she had learned to fear. Just like the kitchen, and with walking up the steps, she courageously stepped foreword.

She found herself standing a little awkwardly on one corner of the room, watching him as he put his bag down, unsure of where she was allowed to sit and anxious while in Hunk's personal space, even if she was also a little touched to be invited somewhere so private and personal. 

Hunk slid the book bag off his shoulder and down onto the top of his dresser, completely disregarding the uncomfortable looking cot along the wall of the old prison cell.

“I don’t know how you feel about books,” He murmured, “But if you want to hang out for a while, you’re welcome to read any of the books here. These are all personally mine. I wouldn’t be opposed to company if you want to kick back in the comfy chair and relax while my body does what it’s going to do.”

When he gave her permission, she relaxed significantly. "I would," Romelle admitted, and smiled as she made her way a little deeper into the room. Standing before his collection of books and narrowing her eyes in the dim lighting, trying to make out the titles while her eyes were still unaccustomed to the low light. 

Hunk set to digging out the things he had for her, and placed them aside. 

"I wasn't much of a book reader before," she murmured, simply to make conversation as Hunk shuffled around in his bag. "My brother though, he used to read all the time." Something in her gaze turned solemn. "He was very smart."

Her sadness stung his nose, and he ached for her.

Of the two brushes, hers was nicer, as his had gotten damaged sometime in transit, but that was fine. Hunk’s mop didn’t need anything fancy to brush it. In fact, he set his brush to the side, the well-worn bristles thunking down on top of his dresser. He’d run it through his hair later. 

It was… Perhaps a little silly, but Hunk wanted to give her something nice, besides the butterfly clip. Now that it was out of the dingy lighting, and Hunk had taken time and a little bit of water from a puddle to clean it of years of caked dust, it glittered with sapphires and topaz gems. In reality, there was no certainty that the gems were real and not a fake, but it was still pretty. The sapphires reminded him of her eyes, glittering and pure, set in a glimmering silver wings with little sparkling black antennae.

“Hey...” He glanced back at her, and turned. The collection of trinkets for her settled in his palms. The brush- one of the good quality condition ones that Keith had requisitioned- was the largest item immediately visible. He kept his fingers curled over the clip, but let the hair ties bundle in a busy clump in his palm.

She looked up when Hunk spoke, first at his face, and then his hands that were outstretched. And Romelle's eyes widened when she recognized the silhouette of the brush, turning her body to meet his. 

He gently pushed them into her hands, his chest protesting the movement with a nasty crunch of bone moving.

"What...?" She asked, bewildered, and smiling weakly as he thrust the hair ties into her hand and well. "Where in the world did you find these?" Though, that smile didn't last long when he told her what the price such a small and unnecessary gift at been.

“I got some things for you.” Hunk’s eyes flitted up to hers. “Well...” His teeth worried his lower lip. “Technically, I didn’t get them. Keith did, but… Team effort _really_ became a thing when he fell off the roof and brought the horde down on us. Don’t, uh, tell him you know about that, though. He’s a prideful guy, and he’s a little heavier than Lance is. The gutter didn’t hold, and he got pretty winded. He already blames himself for this whole thing.” He vaguely gestured at the ruined mess of his chest, hidden under the draping towel and his shirt.

Her eyes shot down to the brush and hair ties. She missed having such comforts. Of course she did. And of course she appreciated this gift, and was warmed by the thought of Hunk thinking about her enough while away to grab her such things. But, had it been worth Keith, Lance, and Hunk getting so hurt?

"You..." She started, but didn't finish. Brows pinching as she curled her fingers around the brush. "Hunk, this... You didn't have to do _this_. None of you had to put yourself at risk just for... For this."

His fingers worried over the butterfly for a moment, before he shifted to sit. Hunk adjusted the towel around his shoulders with one hand, using it as a blanket to keep himself warm as he miserably shivered. Some part of him regretted not keeping any blankets, because he would be miserable until he got to go warm up in the kitchen by the stoves.

Slowly, he shifted his palm out, looking up at her with warm eyes, gleaming in the low lighting of the room. “This is for you too.” The butterfly was bright against the darkness of his palm, even as pale as Hunk was with the amount of fluids that had congealed in his chest rather than in his limbs. In the low lighting of the lamp, the butterfly glittered in a rainbow of blue and gold, surrounded in silver.

Romelle trailed off from saying anymore when he called her attention, and Hunk was holding out his palm to her. Smack dab in the middle, glittering even in the low light of his room, was the _most_ beautiful hair clip she had ever seen. Romelle gasped, and felt her heart sink even while it simultaneously skipped a beat. 

She bit her lip so hard that it hurt. Her eyes began to grow moist, tears kissing her lashes like dew drops. And slowly, so slowly, Romelle reached out with hesitant fingers. Letting them brush against Hunks palm as she scooped up the butterfly clip he presented her. 

Hunk had got this for _her_. Thought of _her_. Got crushed because of this, and yet still brought it back to Altea for _her_. It made her head spin, and her chest feel tight. 

"It's too much," Romelle whispered. His kindness, his fight to bring her something so small just to make her feel comfortable. Maybe Hunk thought it was a small gesture, but seeing the state it was in, Romelle knew it was anything but. It was the second time he had done something so grand for her, and she had nothing to give in return. 

Romelle almost wanted to reject it, because it was just too pretty and _too much_ , but she couldn't do that. Not after he had struggled to bring it back for her. No, he wanted her to have this and she would not be the one to make his, Keith, and Lance's struggle and fight mean nothing.

Hunk watched her, but didn’t comment at first. He could see she was thinking, pondering, processing the gifts he’d given her. To Hunk, it didn’t seem like it would be worth so much- but it was clear to her that the gift meant the world.

She sniffed, and held it out in her own palm as if it was made of glass. "I love it. I really do." Romelle looked up, and she smiled. "It's _beautiful_ , Hunk. Thank you."

Hunk smiled wider, and met her gaze. “I’m glad.” He breathed, his chest giving a low rattle. Slowly, he shifted, tugging the towel off his shoulders, setting it on his pillow. He motioned to the comfy chair for her to get comfortable, and then paused as he realized just how dark it was for her. It said something about his state of exhaustion that it took him this long to realize just how dark and shadowed it was in his room for her.

“It’s probably too dark in here for you, huh?” He mused to himself. Hunk pressed his palms to his knees, and lifted upright again, his feet aching at the chill of the floor. He moved to the makeshift curtains, running his fingers over the blankets hiding his room from the stark, harsh lighting in the hallway. Hunk was cold- the blankets were warm, and he was, half tempted if only for a moment, to pull them all down so he could wrap up and try to be warm.

"Oh, no, it's okay," she tried, but Hunk was, once again, going out of his way to make her comfortable and feel welcome. He was already getting up, so she silenced herself and instead got comfortable in the comfy chair he offered her a second time. Romelle didn't think denying she needed more light would stop Hunk from giving it to her, nor did she want to seem rude. So, she settled with another soft, "thank you."

But that, in particular, was a pointless venture. Hunk’s body couldn’t generate heat at all, so he was doomed as far as that went. He could wrap himself in all the blankets in the world, but all that would do was trap the forever chill he had inside with him, and he’d never warm up.

Hunk’s fingers brushed them again, and then he rolled the blanket up and to the side, holding it in place with a clothes pin he had specifically for the incredibly rare occasion when he had human guests in his room that needed more light than the lamp. He didn’t fully open the room- but it did brighten it more than his dim lamp did.

The stark change in light made him flinch, his pupils contracting into tight little pinpricks as he ducked away from the light and into the shadows of his room. He slid a hand up to shade his eyes, and made his way back to the cot.

Romelle furrowed her brows when he shielded his gaze from the harsh hallway lights, and slowly she looked back down at the butterfly clip in her hand, gently running her thumb over the glittering jewels. 

“There. If you need it brighter, go ahead. I can handle it once I’ve had time to adjust.” He hummed softly to her. “Please, don’t hesitate to get comfortable.” She could prop her feet up on the bed if she wanted- the cot had enough space, and he didn’t care. Lance did it often enough. “The chair there is very soft. Lance insisted I have _something_ comfortable for guests to sit in, so he didn’t have to sit on a fold out chair when he visited late at night.”

Lance had used to come to him to talk about Allura- mostly about what he could be doing better to help her get past her fears, and what he could be improving personally so he didn’t step on her toes or make her uncomfortable- the usual, as far as Lance went. His _hermano_ was the sweetest man Hunk had ever met, truly- Allura was lucky to have his love.

If he’d have been feeling better, he’d have rolled onto it with the usual grace of a bear tumbling off a cliff. As it was, he eased onto the cot like an old man sitting on a hard chair, and he was even slower in shuffling to lay down.

Her silence was not awkward, but contemplative. Maybe, just a little sad and guilty. Romelle thought that she should thank Lance and Keith too, somehow. Though she wasn't sure what she could give. She didn't have a skill set like the others. She wasn't a carpenter or an electrician, nor was she very good at combat. All she could offer was her baking skills, but, would a cake really be enough to express how grateful she was? 

And what could she give Hunk? He couldn't even eat cake.…

Laying down didn’t, unfortunately, last long. At least, laying flat. The wounds on his back didn’t bother him, but laying down flat made all of his organs shift, and there was a lot of pressure on his lungs where there shouldn’t have been. Hunk took one breath- to say something to Romelle, to ask her something regarding her brother- and then he was lurching upright on his elbows and coughing, reflexively grabbing the towel to catch any flecks of infected blood that might have escaped.

It was a hacking, wet cough- the kind that sent all of that blood in his chest sloshing like a poorly held bag of water that was springing leaks. The towel did it’s job, and caught what liquids invaded his lungs.

Romelle was startled out of her thoughts when Hunk started to cough, looking up quickly. "Are you okay?" She gasped, leaping out of the chair. She abandoned the clip and brushes on the table beside the chair to go to his side. 

Without thinking, as Hunk shifted, she leaned down to help, positioning the pillows underneath him, while her other hand rested on his shoulder, guiding him into sitting up, and ignoring the sound of his ribs and organs popping and shifting. Or at least, trying not too pay them any mind. She still couldn’t help glancing at his chest with horror before focusing on his face.

It was hard, in some ways, to watch. Maybe a little bit because seeing the dark sputum on his lips served as a reminder of what he was. But, it was also hard for Romelle to watch, because she cared about him, and he had already suffered enough. Yet, there was nothing she could give him that could help. Nothing that she could do. And the helplessness was just frustrating as it was heart breaking. 

When Hunk could breathe again, he dabbed his face, and propped himself up against the wall, his pillows keeping his back from pressing into hard brick.

He was tired, telltale by the growing shadows under his eyes. He couldn’t ever sleep- but now, Hunk couldn’t even lay down without feeling like he was drowning in his own fluids. Normally it didn’t bother him. Hunk couldn’t drown, and breathing was something he did more out of reflexive habit than an actual need to take in and process actual oxygen. But still, feeling his lungs begin to fill with liquids that were seeping in through micro holes punctured by his floating rib shards and the general weirdness that being a living zombie came with… It wasn’t comfortable.

His next deep breath was rattling, but clearer, and with that, he let the towel slip to somewhere out of the way, but where he could retrieve it later.

“Sorry.” He apologized. Watching someone hack up their own blood and internal slop was probably utterly revolting. He’d done a lot of moving though- he needed to sit if he was going to heal. “I went to talk, and triggered my cough reflex. I can’t drown in my own fluids anymore,” He sighed, eyes drifting closed as he sagged into himself in the corner, “but it’s not comfortable feeling your lungs fill with them either. Besides, if I stopped breathing, I couldn’t talk to you.”

And really, he wanted to talk to her, to learn more about her.

He looked back at her, so tired and weak, and Romelle sighed softly. "Don't apologize."

One eye slid open, watching her out from under long, dark lashes. 

Really, it wasn’t fair that Hunk was as aesthetically appealing now that he was dead. He’d been… Frankly, _fat_ when he’d been alive. He’d lost a lot of weight when he’d been sick though- the seven days it took for him to turn, his body had dropped astronomical amounts of weight.

It was why a lot of zombies were very skeletal. Hunk had been plush before he’d turned, so after, he was more… healthy in body mass? Ish. He still had jiggle, which was ironic since the body fat did nothing to insulate him or to provide him armor when he needed it.

His lips tilted up slowly, and he opened that one eye more, a glitter of honey-amber tickling across his iris as he watched her. “Anyway.” Hunk murmured. “You said something about your brother liking to read. Don’t discredit yourself, Romelle. You’re smart too, you know?” Slowly, he tilted his head to face her more. “Smart, kind, brave… Very, _very_ brave. I want you to know that. Thank you, for being brave and staying with me. It takes a special kind of person to face the things you have, and still be able to treat a thing-” he paused, “ _someone,_ ” he corrected, “like me with the kindness that you do. Thank you.”

Her hands were still on him when she caught the bright glitter of gold. Romelle was caught off guard by his compliment. Blinking once, before feeling her skin flush incredibly quickly, milky tones dusting a rosy hue as she pulled her hands back and shyly tucked her head. A little sliver of blue peeking through the curtain of her straw colored hair. 

"No, it's... It's just the golden rule..." She muttered, lamely, trying to shrug off Hunk's compliment as if she didn't deserve it. In her eyes, she didn't. Hunk was a person like herself and the rest of the survivors in her eyes. Romelle was just doing what she thought was right.

“It’s a golden rule a lot of people have forgotten now that the world doesn’t expect them to keep up a mask.” He replied softly. “You can tell the genuinely kind people in the world when times are hard, and that kindness doesn’t waver.”

Her flush only deepened.

Hunk shivered, another full body thing that had his eye closing for just a second and his teeth rattling. “God,” He muttered, “one of the worst things about being dead- you’re never warm again.” He groused, brows furrowing. He sighed. “Anyway… I’m sorry about your brother. You don’t have to tell me what happened- I won’t ever push you to talk about something you don’t want to. But...” He lifted a hand slowly, and tapped his nose. “I could smell the sadness.” If she didn’t want to risk a topic, it was better to not mention it at all. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose family. I’m the last one from mine- as is Lance. He and I are family now- _hermanos_. Brothers.”

His head lolled, and both eyes opened to look at her. There was a deep sort of sadness in them. And guilt- an endless guilt that would never, ever leave. Lance hadn’t killed his family- and technically, Lance hadn’t killed the last of his own family, either. But Hunk… Hunk had done _things_. Sure, he hadn’t been conscious of it, and he’d been feral- but that wasn’t excuse enough to soothe the deep ache of guilt or the feeling of longing in his soul. 

Hunk’s crimes were a deep stain so dark that it made the midnight ink of his blood look like angel feathers.

He missed his family. His mother, father, siblings- and the children. God, the kids- they hadn’t deserved it. And his little infant nephew… He hadn’t deserved to come back like that either, to be in such pain after what had happened to him. What Hunk had done for their resurrecting corpses had been a mercy- one he was too cowardly to give himself.

It was an odd thing to think of- if he had gone through with it. Would Altea even be there? Would Lance have survived the run with Nadia? Would they have gotten somewhere safe? Would Lance have been able to… And if not, then who would have found Allura? Would anyone have? And if not, then they’d have never met Coran, and never ran into Matt and Pidge- and never found Keith.

Theoretically, Altea wouldn’t exist. Zarkon would still reign- and Romelle would likely be dead.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, dredging his thoughts away from that spiral that led to nowhere good. “I know that sorry doesn’t make it better, but... If you ever want to talk- I’ll listen. Sometimes having someone to talk things out with can make all the difference.” His arms went limp at his side, bored, but his muscles too sore to fidget or to hold a book up so he could read. “And… If there’s anything you _want_ to know about me, I’ll do my best to answer it.”

Though, her guard was down, disarmed by Hunk's sudden honesty. So she was transparent when he spoke up about her brother, her timid smile fading into a deep frown and a gaze darkened with the agony of loss. 

It came hand in hand with living during the apocalypse. Never ending terror of the undead, and the agonizing sadness and torture of loosing _everything_. Her family, friends, neighbors, her dreams about going to study abroad in Paris and making something of herself, her home that had been her safety and warmth for years, and even more. All of it stolen and taken from her, until she missed even the simple pleasure of brushing her hair…

So much had burned up the day the outbreak started, that it was hard to imagine she was here. That _anyone_ in Altea was here. 

It was in Hunk's gaze too. That same devastation and soul crushing sadness, but there was something else too. A never ending guilt. And Romelle realized, in a strange mix of horror and sympathy, that she didn't _want_ to know why he looked like that. She couldn't imagine turning into what he was, what chaos and fear it might have caused in his family. Romelle didn't even want to think about them casting him out, or trying to kill him, or any other fantasy her dark imagination tried to conjure up. 

Knowing, of course, would not change her opinion, but it was just so... So morbid and terrible and _painful_ , to think about, and she had had enough of that. Romelle wanted to forget it all when she was with Hunk, and focus on the warmth he made her feel. 

"I'm not sure I want to talk about it," she admitted. "I do want to ask you a question though." 

Romelle shifted, padding across the cold cell and to the blanket curtain Hunk had pushed aside for her. She had noticed his hesitation earlier, but thought nothing of it until his teeth began to chatter. It was natural for her to lean on to her tip toes to unhook the plush fabric and pull it down, fully intending to use it to soothe his chill.

Hunk didn’t balk at her for taking down one of the curtains to his room, but he did have to lift his arm and throw his forearm over his face as the harsh artificial lighting flooded into his room and made his head throb. Hunk had those up for a reason- he didn’t sleep, couldn’t use them for warmth, but he could use them to block out the hard lights that made him ache. Zombies were night hunters for a reason, after all- their eyes were tuned for night vision, even in near pitch blackness. That left them incredibly sensitive to light.

Still- he wasn’t stupid. Hunk knew what Romelle was doing, and what she was doing was incredibly sweet.

“You can ask me any questions you want,” Hunk replied, watching her through slim cracks in his fingers as she collected the blanket and moved around his room, “I’m an open book, so to speak.” But that also meant he’d likely answer things she’d probably not want to know.

Romelle hummed as she grasped one of the uncomfortable chairs from Hunk's chess table and dragged both back to the cot.

Romelle didn't think about Hunk being unable to generate body heat, because in that moment, she wasn't thinking about him being undead. All she saw was a man she cared about who was cold, and therefore, went back to his side to drape the blanket over him.

"You can smell sadness," she repeated, tucking the blanket around him with the kind of experience that came from having a younger brother she had taken care of. "What else can you smell?"

Hunk watched her approach, and obediently held still while she fussed with the blanket. It was soft, felt amazing, and it was a few degrees warmer than his actual skin. He sighed into it, his eyes closing briefly behind the cover of his arm.

Satisfied with the blanket, she sat down on the chair she had placed beside him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "I've also noticed too how close you and Lance are. Is it okay if I ask you how you and Lance met?"

When his eyes opened again, they no longer ached, and he lowered his arm to look at her. “Like I said, I don’t mind any questions. Lets start off with the first one though, yeah?” Hunk gave her a lopsided smile. “I can smell a lot of things.” He said, addressing her question about scents. “I’ve learned to identify the different influxes of emotion and how they change a persons scent. Everyone is different from the next- your sadness is different than say, Allura, or Lance. But I can smell more than that.” Hunk explained.

Romelle had never really put much thought in how zombies worked, other than how a shot to the head would kill them, and that they usually wanted to eat her. She had never considered them creatures with strengths or weaknesses, only as monsters. 

So, as Hunk answered her question, she found herself leaning in towards him, brows rising high on her forehead. Who would have thought a zombie's sense if smell would be so developed that even the subtle change in hormones for emotion could be detected? In some ways, maybe she shouldn't have been surprise, considering Hunk had told her before about how strong the lights were for him. She hadn't thought about it though, and she found herself amazed by his senses. 

"Wow, that's incredible," Romelle blinked at him, astounded.

He quirked a tiny smile at her. She thought so now- but likely not later. “Infection, disease- I can smell if someone is sick, or going through a hormone change before their cycle starts. Honestly,” Hunk gave her an incredibly sheepish look, his cheeks darkening just a hair with a hint of a flush, “as helpful as it is, it’s also _incredibly_ awkward. But, it’s good for letting me know who not to let go out on scavenging trips, who’s hiding cuts that need bandaging, and who really, _really_ needs a cup of cocoa.”

Blood was one of the main things that drew the undead. You could paint yourself in their ooze and camouflage yourself, but if there was any sort of human blood smell, it was harder to make work. A woman on her menstrual cycle was a walking target- as many of them found out in the months and years following the apocalypse, until everyone grew too malnourished for their bodies to maintain a proper healthy cycle.

Her lips parted in a soft, flustered gasp. And there was no stopping the flush that dusted her cheeks as she looked away from him, unconsciously pushing her knees together. She was anxious and feeling a little exposed, which, now she knew he knew she smelled anxious and violated, which made her even _more_ anxious, until she was chewing on her lips and leaning back in her chair again. 

"... Yeah, I guess," she murmured. Romelle was obviously not very thrilled. It was embarrassing knowing Hunk would now once her period started again, which, now that she was getting rest and proper food, would undoubtedly be happening. That was gross, and then he'd probably think she was gross... God, why did she have to like the guy who could smell her when she was gross!? It was just her luck... 

“Anyway-” He awkwardly made a soft sound, “different emotions also have different effects. Like...” He pursed his lips, brows furrowing ponderously as he wiggled just a smidge and cuddled himself into the blanket with a deep shiver. “Anger burns my nose. It’s spicy, like habanero peppers. Sadness makes my chest ache though, like someone’s put bricks in my lungs. Fear is...” He sighed a tiny sound through his nose. “Fear is... harder to describe. And yes, I can smell it. It’s...” 

His teeth worried his lower lip. “Fear is what excites zombies the most- it activates the predator drive, and incites them to chase and to hunt. If you’re afraid, it’s important never to flat out run from a zombie, unless it’s already running at you in a frenzy. Walk quickly, but don’t sprint- it will bring them to chase, and once one chases, they all will chase.” He advised gently. It was why the group, when returning to Altea from Zarkon’s personal hell, hadn’t run even with Zombies within eye sight. They’d kept at a brisk walk, but no faster. 

Her arms looped around her chest loosely as she listened to him continue. Her flush faded as she frowned. "If your sense of smell is really that powerful, then we really _are_ just walking prey aren't we?"

It was a horrifying thought. Zombies could smell not just their flesh and blood, but their _fear_ , just like how they could see in the dark. Truly advanced and perfectly adapted to hunt humans in every area that they were weakest, including strength and even endurance. The _perfect_ human killing monsters.

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You’re not prey. You’re living beings. We undead are like animals, basically. Animals can smell fear too- it’s not that abnormal.” He gave her a faint smile. “Anyway, I can also smell nice things. Happiness, joy- love. Love is probably one of the most unorthodox complex smells I’ve ever had the pleasure of inhaling. It’s nothing like the perfumes- it’s… I can’t even describe it.” Hunk could smell heart break too- so many things, all at once. It was a sensory overload, only handled because his undead brain was hardwired to function like it was.

At least it wasn't all bad. Romelle lifted her gaze again to find his, and her arms uncrossed from their defensive stance. "It makes sense, because love _is_ complex," she replied, and there was something infinity soft in her tone. 

The soft tone wasn’t missed, but he didn’t know what to make of it, really. “Anyway. You want to know about how Lance and I met? It’s actually interesting. We went to college together, back before all of this,” He waved a hand vaguely at the air, “happened. He knew me when I had a pulse. We hit it off back in class, and were inseparable ever since- Lance got into so much mischief back in school, let me tell you.” A quiet laugh shook his shoulders, but made little noise so as to not disturb his chest. “His mom used to send me goodie baskets for keeping him out of trouble- but really, I think he dragged me into more mischief than I can think of. Though- he did keep me from getting dinged with running naked through the halls after I had a bad reaction to some pain meds.”

Oxycodone was not his friend, and never would be.

As Hunk began to tell her about his relationship with Lance, she listened. For the most part, silently. Though, she did smile and laugh softly with him. Romelle didn't know Lance all that well, but he had quite a loud personality. She could see him getting in trouble a lot. What she couldn't imagine, though, was Hunk running naked through hallways because of pain medication. "You were lucky he was there," she mentioned, entertained. 

“I was, yeah,” Hunk’s laugh was small and choked on account of his chest- but it was there. “God… It was so long ago,” He murmured. “It feels like a life time has gone by. We’ve all changed so much… Well- mostly. I haven’t aged a day since I turned, but everyone else has. It’s wild.” He shook his head again. “Anyway. Lance and I were on break when the apocalypse happened- I got turned pretty early into it, on my way home from a shift at the hospital. It was… I dunno, six, seven months ish after? It’s been a while. Roughly half a year before we found each other again. I met up with him and his niece down in this little retirement community in Clarkdale, Arizona.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: Reminder for those who didn't read the first note: you can read the story about Clarkdale in 'Is It Our Empathy?'.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: So not to blindside you, but we're down to our final chapters now. Got... 2 more weeks, maybe, of content for you all. But, that aside, ya'll have been wonderful and I hope you've enjoyed what's been written. :)
> 
> Also sorry for delay. I'm sick as fuck, n' not gonna lie, I'm kinda semi-feverishly posting this. I did some editing, but if there's errors or stuff that I missed, I hope ya'll can forgive me for it. I try to give ya'll the best, but it's hard to do the best when stuff blurs together.
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: If Voltron was hosted in Westeros (Game of Thrones), who do you think would belong to what house, and why do you think so?
> 
> Strider Answer: Easy- Watched this shit way too much. Alteans would be Targaryens, Galra would be the Baratheons. Allura would have dragons instead of mice, and her Coran would live too because Uncle Coran is the best and shall live forever.
> 
> Shiro would be Lorathi descent, but have come to the North with his family when he was a child, so he'd have grown up with Northern traditions. 
> 
> Keith would be Lorathi and Baratheaon- bastard blood, born and raised alongside Shiro's family, probably sired when the king took a tour through his kingdoms.
> 
> Lance and Hunk would be Dornish, obviously. Lance, a Dornish prince. Hunk, his personal guard, chef, and voice of reason. And bff for forever.
> 
> Pidge would be a researcher of the higher sciences, alongside her family.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: Pardon me if it's not very good, I'm feverish and feel like crud. Anyway! Of all the things in the world that should not be pickled, what is top of your list for things that should not be pickled?

Of course, it wasn't all happy and warm. Not when the apocalypse had crept around the corner, and erased their lives seemingly overnight. Hunk wouldn’t ever forget Clarkdale. He wanted to go back there, someday, and find Lance’s family’s bodies. They were probably still in their car where it had flipped- still wild, still undead, still left alone. Hunk wanted to, eventually, lay them to rest next to Nadia. They deserved that. But… Arizona was months of walking, and it wasn’t feasible with Altea needing upgrades. And… His family was here. Hunk had anchors, roots. Maybe… in years to come, he could go. But now, he had priorities.

“They were being chased by a horde,” He continued, “and I got them out. I’d been in the town for a while, scavenging and living up on the roof of some little shop, so I got them both up the ladder. Lance recognized me I think- maybe I recognized him? I dunno, little details are harder to remember. I remember he panicked- he thought I was gonna turn, since I had taken a bite to my leg when I’d followed them up the ladder. He thought it was his fault I was gonna die.”

Joke was on him, Hunk had already been dead.

Hunk shook his head again. “He didn’t panic when I told him I was already dead- I think I told you that though? He’s the only one who really didn’t have some real form of a freak out that I was a dead but not dead zombie. I gave him hope though- Nadia, his niece, had gotten bit when their car wrecked. She was the last of his family- he hoped, maybe, if we followed what my parents did with me, that maybe she’d turn out like I did. It… Well, sadly, it didn’t work. This was before we knew about variants though- mutations in the virus and all of that. She didn’t have the mutation- and no amount of trying to cross infect her worked. We laid her to rest in a park with lots of flowers.”

Hunk’s smile twisted a little, and he sighed. “You’d have liked Nadia. She was… Very curious. She wasn’t afraid of me either. She kept trying to feed me raviolis, and liked to play by her own rules when it came to card games. Very sweet, very brave girl. She’d have been a force of nature if she’d have gotten to grow up.” 

Her smile faded, and her brows shifted, empathetic to hearing Lance's tale. "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her," Romelle murmured, giving a weak smile. "She sounds like a character."

“She was.” Hunk agreed. Nadia had been a tiny force of nature. She’d have made an amazing undead. “After Nadia, Lance grew protective. I’m sort of his last link to the life he had before. Even though I’m already dead, Lance is… _fierc_ _ely_ protective.”

There were some honest worries for Hunk that eventually, Lance wasn’t going to tolerate Shiro’s behavior towards Hunk. And then, they’d be right back where they started with Keith- who would take Shiro’s side over either of theirs, any day, no matter what bonds they’d forged in the time Keith had been with them whilst Shiro had been captured.

Unconsciously, her hands started rubbing together. Hunk continued, and Romelle was struck by how similar their stories were. "I know where he's coming from," she eventually admitted. "My brother... He was the last of my living family, and the last piece of my previous life. When I lost him, I..." She swallowed.

It had been a blow so painful that there were blurry memories of months on end of nothing but agony. There were moments where she thought about sticking her gun in her mouth and ending it all. Why bother? She had lost _everything_. She had been alone. She had been as good as dead anyway. 

Until Zarkon. 

She guessed, in some ways, she had to be thankful to that asshole. He made her realize her will to survive was a lot stronger than she thought.

"I did everything within my power to keep him safe," she finally finished. And the thought of her failure soured her scent with guilt and heartbreak. Emotions she now realized he would know instantly, but emotions she could not stop from squeezing tight around her chest until she felt as if her own ribs were cutting into her lungs too.

Hunk watched her, his soul weeping for her as she spoke. Hunk knew the loss of one’s family intimately. Too, too intimately. Romelle wasn’t to blame for the loss of her brother in the slightest. Though- he knew, just as he wasn’t technically at fault for it since he couldn’t control himself, he still blamed himself- and like he did, she likely blamed herself for not being able to save him.

Hunk knew what she’d been through. “I know what you mean.” He whispered gently. Most of the people of the apocalypse had some ghosts that haunted them, skeletons rattling in their closets. Hunk and Romelle were two people out of hundreds among the communities who had lost everything. Still- seeing it so commonly did not make it any less sad. But, empathizing still made them feel.

“Before Altea,” Hunk continued, “Lance had a habit of putting a bullet in anyone that put a bullet in me- which was handy, given how I had to heal. Before we took on Allura, and eventually Coran, we were… I dunno. Roving bandits? Not bandits. Outlaws? _No_ … Think robin hood, but less spandex and more ‘these assholes are hurting good people, not on my watch’ kind of things. Vigilantes? I think that’s the one that fits.”

Romelle was happy Lance still had someone, and that he hadn't had to experience the soul crushing devastation she, and no doubt so _many_ others, had. And she respected that Lance was more than just a good college friend. He truly was like a brother, and that they bond that ran far deeper than she could ever truly hope to understand, and a bond that she would never want to compromise. 

Romelle thought maybe she should talk to Lance more. Get to know him a little better. He sounded like a good guy. And, subconsciously, she wanted his approval. 

"No, that's not the right word," Romelle replied. "With the world like it is today, roving in people like Zarkon, you guys weren't being vigilantes. You're more like…"

Romelle's eyes darted around for a moment, thinking, only to light up when she found the word she was looking for. Her smile was still a little weak, but her heartbreak was slowly dulling as they moved on to topics less solemn. "Paladins," she decided.

“Paladins?” He echoed ponderously. “Like the knights of old. Forces of good. That’s...” A laugh shook him, and it made him cough again. He muffled it with the back of his arm, but nothing came up anyway. When his insides settled with an ominous crunch of one of his ribs sliding back into place and relocating properly, he sighed softly and smiled at her, giving a nod of approval. 

She was absolutely delighted that Hunk seemed to love her idea so much. Though, she did cringe gently when his laugh turned into another sickening cough. Romelle wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to the sound of ribs cracking as they shifted in and out of place, her body giving a hard shudder as the sound of it ricochet across the quiet of the room. 

Hunk settled his palm very gently on her knee to soothe her, and redirect her attention off of his body noises and back on their discussion. “I like that.” His smile was genuine, and earnest. “Paladins for Altea. We should make that a thing- have our scavenging groups with names. Maybe color coordinate the leaders and squads? Make it more official- it’s something we can talk to Allura about.”

His hand was icy cold, like he’d been holding it under ice water for too long. His joints were stiff from chill. His body wasn’t regaining any warmth under the blanket, but that was no surprise. Still, despite his cold hand on her dress covered knee, his eyes and his smile were warm and much, much brighter.

Romelle gasped unintentionally at the feeling of his hand. It was so _cold_! It permeated through the fabric of the dress and into her skin. But, she resisted the urge to pull back. It didn't burn, it was just surprising. And she knew he was dead, and that dead bodies were cold, but she didn't remember Hunk ever being _this_ cold. She felt as if she was touching ice. 

“Paladins is more fitting than vigilantes.” And a lighter topic to talk about. He drew his hand back before it overstayed it’s welcome as well. “Really though- we could actually design the scavenging groups around it. A team leader and a group- knowing Lance, Lance would want to be blue. It’s his favorite color, hence the band he wears for marking his color.” He smiled. “Keith… Maybe red or black. Something dark, but warm. Pidge is green, hands down. She likes green, even if she’s not a nature fan. Me… I dunno. Yellow? Coran would want orange, if he ever went out.”

Coran was much like Allura. He didn’t leave unless there was a need for the entire group to be there where he could back them up with his copious amounts of explosives.

Romelle's eyes remained on his hands even as he drew them back. Was he so cold because all the blood had rushed to his chest? That was a surprisingly _human_ reaction for the undead to have. The fact Hunk even bled was too, really. She found herself morbidly fascinated in the way she imagined Pidge must feel too. No wonder she was so intent on studying Hunk every chance she got. 

Her thoughts strayed a little, but she found her way back, eyes rising to his face and listening. "I like the color yellow for you," she replied. 

Yellow was a bright and happy color. The color of the sun that every living thing still surviving on planet Earth needed to thrive on. And though no one said it, and those who didn't like Hunk would never admit it, Altea was undoubtedly thriving because of him. Perhaps not _solely_ because of him, but Romelle knew he was one of the largest contributors, and vital to the community. 

Yellow fit him.

Hunk slumped just a little as he sucked his arm back under the blanket with a shiver. “So- I know you don’t want me going out until I’m feeling better and I don’t plan on it. But… When I do go out again, do you have any requests…? Like… I know you like your brush and your clip, but is there anything you want for your room?”

"You're absolutely right about that," she interjected. "I'll sit here the entire time you're healing to enforce it if I have too." A warning that was aided by a frown and stern look. "I'm not kidding." Romelle remained looking stern until she was confident she got her point across. And then it softened into something tender. 

She was new here, and her room was still bare. With only the barest of essentials being a bed and a few clothes. She hadn't had the time to decorate like some of the older Altea members. It was okay though, even just having a bed was more than she had had in a long time. Maybe even for years! She was happy just to have that much. 

"You don't have to bring anything for me," she said, kindly. Even if it was on the way for him to scavenge some water heater parts. "The clip and brush is already so much more than I could have asked for."

“A clip and a brush are more personal comfort items, Romelle.” He smiled at her. “I don’t mind getting something bigger.”

Technically, big items were supposed to be retrieved by the person who wanted them- but Hunk did a lot of retrievals since he was, technically, the only one who could walk through a town with a couch slung over his shoulders, or chairs. Or pull a wagon of supplies. He could probably walk a horse into town, actually, and load a wagon with supplies. The Zombies wouldn’t hurt the animal- but they would spook it.

Hunk did know of some wild horses- but taming them was the hard part. He might get around to doing it as a side project, but… He had more important things to do than to try and play cowboy. Hunk was decidedly not a cowboy- that was more Keith than him. Though- if he ever said ‘yee-haw’ to Keith, there was a chance that Keith could shank him.

He’d _certainly_ tried to shank Lance when the Latino had teased him over it.

“Like… I dunno.” Hunk made a ponderous noise. “A chair? I know a good place for soft ones. It’s a couple days walk, but it’s also got some houses that have the hot water heaters with parts I can scavenge. I might also see about getting more material to brace the fences. Or… I dunno. I also need to go hunting eventually- not for _me_ hunting, mind, but fresh elk and venison is always a delight. But, it needs to wait until Lance is patched up, and he doesn’t heal like I do. So- material runs first, as well as things. So… If you can make me a list, I’ll see about getting you some things. Chairs, bedding- well… Bedding might be more iffy.”

A lot of blankets and stuff were mildewed and molded. Hunk would have to hit up one of the super stores to see if there were any blankets still wrapped in plastic. Quilts and other soft, delightful things were commonly found. The ‘cheap’ blankets found at the super stores were absolutely fantastic for the apocalypse, and they’d survived in their plastic wrapping for years upon years.

Soft, satiny things though… Those usually rotted. But minky, cotton, and other materials usually did just fine. Towels were forever, for instance- wash cloths, dish cloths. Odd things- things people didn’t think would last. But they did. And what _was_ damaged with mold could be fixed with enough soap to flood a hallway and a hot pot of boiling water.

Hunk’s blankets were quilts- they kept the light out best.

His eyes drifted closed as he pondered the heater parts he needed.

Romelle had the sudden urge to reach out and run her fingers through his soft hair in a soft and comforting rhythm as his eyes started to drift closed. It was what she used to do with her brother when he had trouble falling asleep. Something to help soothe his troubled mind when he woke up sweating and whimpering from night terrors and invisible monsters she didn't know how to help him face.

Her fingers curled reflexively in her dress, but she stubbornly kept it against her thigh, unsure if she should. 

“Man… I’m not going to lie to you, Romelle.” The words ghosted past his lips, breaking the silence that had fallen. “I really, _really_ look forward to getting the heater fixed. A hot shower… I’d love to just soak in something _warm_. I can’t ever really get warm, you know? It’s why most of my clothes are generally plush looking. They keep sunlight heat better, and, of course, muffle my own permanent chill a little better so I don’t bother everyone.”

However, when he started to speak about how cold he was, she couldn't help it. Romelle leaned foreword suddenly to press her warm fingers into his freezing skin, frowning in concern. She had noticed his shivers and clattering teeth hadn't dissipated with the blanket. He was dead, it made sense that he couldn't really generate his own body heat or stay warm. What made it so painful for her though, was that he could _feel_ it. 

He was dead, but his body _still_ had nerves that reacted, that still told him he was cold. And she had felt that before. The kind of cold that felt like it settled into her bones and would never go away. She hated it, and to imagine Hunk _living_ with it had her heart aching.

His body had tensed the moment her fingers touched his skin, like someone had pressed a branding iron to his body. But it wasn’t a pained motion- his eyes slid open just a crack, reading the deep, genuine pain for his sake that she felt. And then, he tilted his head into her hand with a soft, almost desperate sigh. She was so warm, and her hands so soft- Hunk couldn’t tell her that she didn’t have to. It felt nice- to just be touched.

Lance did it too, touched him without asking- but Hunk was often too busy, constantly running, as was Lance. Now that Altea had as many people as it did, they didn’t have as many chances to just sit and do brotherly cuddle, unless Lance came to him at night with a nightmare. But those were fewer and fewer now that Lance had Allura to comfort him- though, sometimes, Allura still came to Hunk, when she had nightmares of her time before they’d found her.

Hunk was never sure _why_ she came to him, but he wasn’t going to tell her no. If she found comfort in him- in the chill of his body, his lack of pulse, in the lack of humanity that had hurt her so badly before- then he was glad to oblige her until her skin stopped crawling with phantom touches of heated fingers groping where they shouldn’t.

As he leaned into her fingers, Hunk thought that maybe, just maybe, he was more than just a little touch starved.

Her fingers ran through his bangs in a mindless and familiar gesture. "I wish I could help you," she admitted, her voice soft.

Romelle noticed, after the initial flinch, the way he turned into her fingers and how he closed his eyes and sought out more of her gentle caresses. She thought, as she spread her fingers to card through even more with fingernails gently running along his scalp, that Hunk probably hadn't experienced something so kind and simple in a long time. After all, who would want to touch a zombie for any reason except to kill it? 

And for some reason, it hurt even more to know that she was right. Despite being a valued member of Altea, no one, save for a special few, were kind enough to gift such simple things as touch to him. 

As her fingers carded through his bangs, he tilted his head to let her play with more. His hair was, despite not being brushed, almost unnaturally free of tangles and knots. It was smooth and wet, and it moved under her touch, bristling and ruffling like long, soft animal fur as his scalp twitched.

His hair was _soft._ Coarser than she expected, but free of knots and easy for her to run her hands through. It almost made her think of a rabbit, or a dog. It had to be another zombie thing, she realized, but this was a rather _peculiar_ one. Most zombies, unless they were fresh, had their hair decay away by now, so it's not like she had ever studied zombie hair before. 

It was nice on her palms, even if his scalp was ice cold. And Romelle found that she liked this discovery, peculiar as it was.

Hunk sighed, oh so gently, and his eyes drifted shut again. “I know you do.” He murmured. “I know you do. But there’s not much you can do. I’m not- I’m not like a human that can be warmed with body heat. Anyone who tried would just get too cold with how chilled I am. I can’t give back any warmth I would get.” Sharing body warmth- huddling- required being able to give warmth as well as receive it, which was why the sum of the warmth of two bodies was greater than one body alone. Hunk couldn’t participate- he was a black hole when it came to heat. Heat went in, but did not come out.

He couldn’t count the number of times Lance had gotten cold, and all Hunk could do was light a fire and try to create a wall so all of Lance’s heat stayed in his clothing and blankets, and not gone out into the open air. That had been a long time back, back before they’d found Allura- when they’d had to winter on their own, and survive the cold snows and lack of warmth in a run down house.

It felt like a lifetime ago. Extreme camping, he thought Lance had jokingly called it. Which was funny, because neither of them had been particularly adept at camping until they’d had to forcefully learn.

“Though… God, warmth of any kind is heaven. Your hand is so warm...” His words were airy- and it was clear he was basking in her touch, in the warmth of her hands against the frightfully chilled skin of his body. “Sorry. You’re just… your fingers feel nice. It’s been a long time since anyone’s done this.” His body relaxed, boneless against his pillows. 

His body grew heavy. She could tell by the way the cot shifted as he went limp. Romelle found herself smiling gently. "It's okay," she whispered.

The icy hands of the water had long since left her skin, but Romelle didn't think she would be able to help even if she was back to normal temperature. He would suck all the heat out of her and then they'd both just be cold, and Romelle had the _distinct_ impression Hunk would not appreciate her giving up her warmth for him. And it was a fight that, while his eyes were closed and he looked so close to fading, she didn't want to entertain. 

Perhaps, one day... Though the thought of it threatened to make her blush and had her heart doing a flip as she resisted the urge to bite her lip. 

Hunk couldn’t sleep. His body was unable to, completely- he’d never be able to sleep again. But he could meditate of sort, and zone out. His daydreams were the closest things he could get to actual dreaming and sleep. But he didn’t want to just zone out on her, even if her fingers stroking through his bangs, running against his skin and his scalp, felt like heaven.

He was at a crossroads- did he give in to the relaxing feeling, let himself succumb and focus on the warmth of her hand, pretend that he could feel the warmth spreading like liquid sunshine pouring over his icy skin- or did he keep himself aware and keep talking to her? He probably should keep talking to her. She did say she wasn’t fond of books. Maybe he could read to her? He read to the kids when he had the chance.

“Mmm… Would you like me to read to you?” He asked finally, looking up at her. “Any book that catches your fancy. I don’t mind. Reading out loud is easy- and something I used to do for Lance too, now that I think about it. When he and I were alone, sometimes the silence at night bothered him, so I would read.”

When those eyes cracked back open, she raised her brows. She was not surprised at all by Hunk's offer. That sweet quality of his to always be considerate of others, however, was quickly going to become frustrating. "I'm supposed to be taking care of _you_ ," she replied. "If anyone is going to be reading, it will be _me_." 

Hunk blinked up at her slowly, eyes glinting gold in the lingering harshness of the artificial lights that streamed in and invaded his haven from where she’d pulled down the blanket. The lights stabbed at his retinas, but he’d had long enough to adjust to them- it was no more painful than staring at the sun.

He hadn’t really expected her firm insistence that she would be the one to read if anyone was going to read- or that she was supposed to be taking care of him. He knew she’d offered to help him, and was keeping him company- but that didn’t necessarily mean she had to take care of him. Though… She had been. The fingers in his hair, tucking him in with a blanket, fussing at him for even considering going out to scavenge for items.

Romelle was a great caretaker, he thought. She’d make an amazing mother. Her fingers were soft, and so gentle. If he could sleep, she’d have had him unconscious in minutes. But, as it was, his mind was simply forced to slow, chugging along at the pace of cold molasses with every passing sweep of her fingers through his bangs against his scalp.

He liked this- liked her here, with him. It was nice, though he didn’t deserve such attentions. He wasn’t daft- he’d seen her blush. He didn’t know what she was thinking, and humans could blush for any number of reasons, but it didn’t stop his undead heart from fluttering. Metaphorically, so to speak. 

Hunk liked her- he really liked her. Her company, her determination- her gentle touch. The sass she wasn’t afraid to give him when he was thinking of doing something he shouldn’t, like going out to work before he should have. She was complex in a large number of ways- and still so, so sweet.

Her hand paused mid brush, keeping the bangs off his forehead by flattening them to his head. She looked down at him curiously. "Do you want me to?"

It took him a moment to process what she said when she asked him ‘do you want me to?’, as in read him one of his many books. Because his mind was down an entirely different track, and he heard ‘do you want me _too_ ’, and that sent his thoughts into a scrambled fuzz of flustering, and though his mouth opened, the only thing that came out was an incredibly, super intelligent, “ _Uuhhhhh_ ,” for far too many seconds.

The way he stared back at her after she asked made her blush a little more. Romelle wondered if she had asked something wrong. And then _what_ he heard, when he seemed to stall out and turn dark with his own blush. Romelle's heart skipped a beat, and her anxiety got the best of her. 

"I mean, I totally understand if you would rather read on your own," she quickly defended. "I don't have to stay here, if you want to be alone. I don't want you to think I'm invading your personal space or anything I just... I noticed you never take time to yourself to rest and that's important for healing, I would imagine even for a zombie, right? I don't really know much about zombies, and Pidge hasn't told me everything, but she did tell me a whole lot- ah, I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm sorry, I should just…"

However, when it clicked back in that she was talking books, Hunk swallowed, running his tongue across his lips to wet them as his cheeks dusted black. They were a darker black than before- some of his fluids were regenerating, which meant he was healing, albeit slowly, very slowly, with the scope and scale of his wounds. Still, the blush was some kind of betrayal, because he felt incredibly silly, and he had no way to logically explain it to her in case she asked.

She started to pull back, hand almost sliding from his hair, a breath away from breaking contact, when Hunk finally managed a reply. She immediately paused. 

“I wouldn’t mind.” He eventually managed to reply to her. 

Oh, okay. So maybe he just wasn't used to having someone be so kind to him? Maybe... she felt a little foolish for freaking out. He probably did too. And Romelle really couldn't help but laugh quietly at them as the tension seemed to pass

He shifted against the bed, briefly disturbing her hand as he got himself situated once more. “The book I was reading last is on my dresser. It’s...” His flush managed to darken. “A romance and adventure novel, about a dragon and a prince. I wouldn’t mind starting it over if you want to read it. But...”

"It's a what?" She murmured, not because she didn't hear him, but because she was surprised. Romelle had been fully prepared to crack open some boring book about medical procedures or engineering, books she thought would have been vital during the apocalypse, and yet, he had one he was reading about _adventure and romance_. Her hand had resumed once again as he settled back down, her smile pleased. Yeah, she thought, she could read a book like that.

“Adventure and romance.” He replied automatically, though it was a clearly surprised question and not because she hadn’t heard him. “ _But_ ,” He continued again, stressing the word. He shifted, and Hunk managed to squish himself against the side of his cot. It opened up a space for her to sit. He didn’t lift the blankets, but he did offer part of his shoulder and arm, and a couple of his pillows, to lean on.

He was moving again, and Romelle pulled her hand away as she recognized what he was doing. Her heart became warm, filling her gut with the nervous tremble of butterfly wings as he made a perfect little nook with his shoulder and pillows. Still, they would be close, pressed together even without being under the blankets; it was basically a breath away from _cuddling_. like a... Like a _couple_ …

“But- If you’re going to read to me,” his gaze slid from her to the chair she was sitting on, and it was abundantly clear he disapproved of the folding chair, “I’d rather you sit somewhere more suited to long term comfort. The folding chair is more what I sit on when I have company- it’s not meant for humans, really. It’s not… comfortable long term. So, I can get up and scoot the comfy chair over, or you can lean on my shoulder if you like. I might be cold, but I’m sturdy. And, it’ll be okay.”

His chest was still a mess, and if she elbowed him in the ribs, there wasn’t a guarantee she wouldn’t shove his ribs straight into his organs and reset all of the healing he’d managed to get done- which wasn’t much anyway. But, he knew she would worry. He had a feeling she would protest him getting out of bed to move heavy furniture, so her flopping onto the cot with him was likely the best option.

He just needed her to see that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

Hunk wasn't a bad guy. He was sweet, and caring. He made sure to put others before himself. He both scared and fascinated her almost every day. And, he wasn't bad looking either. He was no Adonis, but he was big and sturdy and Romelle felt like he could protect her. Romelle was feeling more and more safe and relaxed around him the more she got used to his... _zombisims_. 

A part of her wanted to leap at the chance, while the other glanced at his chest in concern. Would squeezing together on one cot really be good for him?

His eyes slid to the chair, and Romelle knew _exactly_ what was coming. "You're not doing any such thing," she remarked immediately, and she came so close to literally putting her foot down like a scolding mother.

He gave her an appeasing look that clearly said he wouldn’t move the chair, unless that was the choice she chose.

Hunk brought up a good point, though. The folding chair was not very comfortable, and if Romelle spent hours reading, it would cause her pain in her back for several days later. Romelle would have endured it of course, but she knew Hunk wouldn't want her to; and was just as stubborn about taking care of others as she was. Which meant her options were try to drag the heavy and comfier chair over, which was _not_ going to happen with her weak arms, or accept the space he gave her by his side. 

The option she would take was obvious, and Romelle had the distinct impression that if they were playing chess, Hunk would have just called ' _checkmate_.' He had all the perfect pieces in place, and Romelle found herself giving a resigned smile in defeat. Though, in this case, she didn't particularly mind letting Hunk have his way. 

"You are a very difficult patient," she sighed as she stood up from the chair. 

Hunk watched her like a hawk- though far less predatory, and far more protective. “I’ve been told that many a time, I assure you. Though usually by Pidge when she tries to make me do something ridiculous.”

She made sure to put the folding chair back by his chess table first before she grabbed the book on his dresser and made her way back to his side.

“Anyway,” He continued, “so long as you aren’t a wild story teller, and don’t flail your arms while telling the story,” He gave her a cheeky wiggle of his brow, a playful grin tilting at his lips, “I think we’ll be okay for you to lean on my shoulder. I’d love to listen to you read though, if you wouldn’t mind reading. And if that book isn’t one you want to read, you can, like I said, pick any one on the shelf. Or in the bag, I suppose.”

And Hunk’s collection of books was large. Not as large as the official ‘library’ of sorts, with shelves upon shelves of books, which included school books for the kids to learn from, and books for people to read for pleasure. As well as learning books- books on engineering, learning the basics of electrical wiring, and a bunch of others.

Most of Hunk’s personal books were pleasure reads, rather than business or educational reads. Though he did a lot of educational reads too, especially when he had to learn about something necessary for something to work at Altea.

His cheeky grin made her huff softly. "How would I do that with a book in my hands?" She retorted.

“Never underestimate the skills of a wiggly person cuddling close.” Hunk gave her a grin.

Carefully, she moved her way into the cot, giving a nervous glance at Hunk's chest as she gingerly tried to wiggle into the space he had left for her. Hunk was a mountain of a man who took up most of the cot, but thankfully, she was small enough to fit into the crevice between. It was a bit snug, but still comfortable as she leaned back against the pillows and his chest. 

Romelle tried not to focus on the cold. How, even through the blanket she had settled over his chest, she could feel it radiating out and licking at her skin. She couldn't hide her shiver, however.

Hunk was aware of her shiver, but there was very little he could do for her comfort wise. He simply hooked his arm around her hips, and kept her anchored on the narrow cot while she got herself comfortable against him. The weight of her against his chest was a little uncomfortable, but not anything he couldn’t handle. It was gentle, a faint pressure- nothing like the feeling of her unknowingly crushing him in a relieved hug, for instance.

Romelle settled, shy at first. As the book settled in her lap and she opened it up to the first page however, her body relaxed, easing back into Hunk. Her temperature regulated slowly, so that his chill didn't bother anymore. The blanket helped, acting as a buffer so that she didn't lose all her heat to his greedy icy skin. 

She was reminded of when she was younger. Her brother and her used to share a room, and sometimes he would wake up in a whimpering mess. She would go to him, unable to sleep with his sounds of panic anyway. And, with the moon leaking in through their bedroom window, she would sit up with him, a book in her lap just like this, her brother curled against her side, reading him stories of adventure and fun until his breaths grew heavy and sleep no longer eluded him. 

It was a bittersweet memory. Romelle paused as she opened the book to the first page, reliving it as her fingers caressed the pages. She had to swallow something thick in her throat.

Hunk was a patient man though- he didn’t move, didn’t fuss, as she took her time caressing the pages. He simply slid his fingers lightly against her side, giving her a grounding touch so whatever ghosts and memories haunted her, wouldn’t be so scary. The ghosts of the past were never so bad when one remembered that they weren’t alone.

His touch did help. Romelle was tugged out of her thoughts and her memories, and she focused on the top of the page, reading over the first words so she’d have them fresh in her mind for speaking them out loud. "I'll start from chapter one," she finally mumbled. 

Clearing her throat, she settled into the coolness of his body and began to read. “Sand plumed into the air, along with the scattering of scales and feathers. Snarls and roars bellowed across the overcast skies as the dunes shook and quaked, rolling under the breeze blown by billowing sails of vibrantly colored wings-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Fun tidbit. The story she's reading is a tiny exerp from another rp between me and weenie. <:


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider notes: We're nearing the last of the chapters that we have stored up- where in I'll have to write up the base plot line for ya'll, so ya'll get *some* satisfaction from WMUH.
> 
> ANYWAY. And now we’re backing up just a bit to actually take a peek at what happened when Lance and Allura ran off. Ya’ll get some cute Allurance to tie off the last of what we had written~
> 
> QUESTION FROM LAST WEEK: Of all the things in the world that should not be pickled, what is top of your list for things that should not be pickled?
> 
> Strider answer: It's a toss up. Pigs feet are right up there with brined cheese. YUCK. Both are things that should not exist.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK: If you could take 'normal holiday wear' for one particular holiday and normalize it for everyday wear, what would it be? For example- if your favorite holiday is easter, it could be Easter bunny ears every day.

As Lance met her half way, Allura's worried frown turned into a radiant smile, her blue eyes misting over with unshed tears of relief. She reached out with both hands to capture her smiling lover's face, holding him tenderly in place while she lowered herself towards him to capture those soft lips against her own. "I was so worried about you, _mi cielo_."

Lance enthusiastically returned the kiss, never mind the fact that he hadn’t washed properly in almost two weeks, and he had to smell like an absolute dumpster fire. He didn’t even care if his skin felt almost gritty compared to hers- he was home, she was safe, and god, her lips were heaven on his. Her little lit of Spanish- something she was learning just for _him_ \- sent his heart into helpless flutters in his chest, like a little bird trying it’s best to escape.

He did his best to appear cool and collected, and fired off a string of Spanish at her in return rather than let himself melt into the puddle of soft goo like his romantic heart wanted him to. “ _Oh mi amor, ni siquiera las hordas del infierno podrían alejarme de tus brazos amorosos._ ” He purred to her with an enthusiastic brow wiggle, because he simply couldn’t help himself from being that much extra.

His antics, on any day, were charming at best and exasperating at worst. Right now, however, after countless nights of silent worrying, she found it irresistible. Allura had to stay strong for Romelle and Pidge, and speak words that she wasn't sure she believed her self about them coming back. She’d had to pretend to be confident and self assured, when in reality, her knees shook and she felt as if she was barely holding it together. 

"Lance.…"

Her exasperated tone was weak. Perhaps, if the better part of two weeks had not been spent worrying ceaselessly about the man who had captured her entire heart, she might have been a little more insistent. The way his voice rolled so smooth in his native language though, like an ocean wave sliding over sand, was always sexy for her; and it was incredibly more so now, after she had dreamed more than a handful of times that she would never hear his voice again. 

It was a show, and she knew it. Lance was an incredibly emotional person, and he was trying to ‘look’ cooler than that. Allura didn't mind his mask so much, because she wore her own. She was Allura of Altea, the merciful leader and harbinger of hope, to most.

She stepped closer, running one of her smooth hands through his short hair. "I'm glad you're home and safe," she whispered.

Her fingers sliding into his hair had his shenanigans quieting though, and he tilted his head, pressing his face into the other hand still cupped to his cheek. His hand that wasn’t supporting his weight with his rifle lifted up, and he cupped her hand to his cheek. Lance just… breathed her in for a moment. The cleanliness of her smell, the warmth of her skin, and the relieved sort of feeling of safety he felt in her towering over him like she was. 

When Lance lifted his hand, caressed the warm skin of her cheek, and seemed to melt into her, the facade they both wore seemed to dissolve. She was herself again, the young woman who had fallen for the sweet young man just trying to make it in a world that had become so dark and cruel.

“Me too, _mi amor_.” He murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Allura’s eyes went soft at his tone, and the softening of his voice. Though, her expression changed into a weird mix of amusement and disgust when she finally processed the words he’d shouted to her. _Zombie lady bits?_ "How in the...?" She started, stepping closer with intent of wrapping her arms around him to provide him with further comfort. Though, Allura paused when her chest brushed against a bump that shifted and _moved_.

Her eyes widened, and she put some space between them in alarm. " _What_ is that?"

Lance blinked when she balked and moved away from him, his arm trailing after her like a child seeking comfort and being denied the very touch he sought. It took him a sadly long minute to realize what she was talking about- or rather who.

However, it took only an instant for his mind to slip right back into mischief, and he gave her a dramatic look, his wrist rising to cup the swell which was, ironically, seated on his belly just below the middle strap keeping his backpack from bouncing against his back. “Oh, but my love, our last night together bore fruit, and if not for the valiant skills of our great medic and my trusty midwife Keith, I surely wouldn’t have survived.” He lamented. “But, I did and I bore the sweet fruit of our labors.”

Though, just like an ocean too, Lance was never still for long; there was too much life beneath the waves for that. And Allura found herself furrowing her brows. Especially when he cupped the swollen bulge in his shirt and started talking about sweet fruit and midwives. 

Okay, they've done this before. Lance sometimes brought things home to gift them to her, and, most times she was appreciative, or at least could play that she was. Except, none of those gifts ever _shifted around_ and now she was really starting to grow concerned. "I'm serious, Lance. _W_ _hat_ is that?" She almost demanded.

With a dramatic flourish, Lance unzipped his coat- and the bundle showed itself to be the little gray fluffy kitten, sleepily blinking out from against his stomach. Six days of forced human interaction had done a lot to curb her constant hissing and growling, as did the fact that they fed her and gave her plenty of water and a warm, safe place to sleep.

Princess was docile as Lance gently manhandled her out, her limbs dangling limply from her harness as he loosened the tie to his body so Allura could see her. Big green eyes blinked up at the tall woman, and she gave a tiny, airy sounding squeak of something like confusion.

Lance beamed, entirely too proud of himself. “Allura, meet Princess, our new furbaby. C’mon- lets go get her settled inside and you can hold her where I can unclip her, and maybe I can sweet talk you and your magic hands into helping me wrap my leg so Hunk can have a break~?”

Allura's hands flew to her mouth. The pinch in brows smoothing out as they arched high in surprise.

"Oh!" She gasped as that tiny head, and large green eyes, turned towards her. "Oh, Lance!" 

Allura almost reached out right then and there, as if to gather the confused little ball of fur and hold her close. Princess was still clipped tightly, however, so instead she dropped her hands and clasped them together before her. "Hello there, Princess," she greeted, polite, and gentle.

Honestly, she didn't need much coaxing to agree to help fix Lance's leg. Allura would have done it regardless, so restless to see Lance after being away from him so long that she would have asked him to come to their room instead of the med bay anyway. However, having a new kitten to gush over _certainly_ helped. "She's so precious, and tiny…"

Lance shifted, and Allura moved in tandem, with the kind of ease and familiarity that came from being so close. Her arm slipped around his waist, and her hold was steady, helping to ease his weight off his leg while they started back towards the prison together.

There was, briefly, a moment where she glanced at the others. Seeing that everyone had arrived safe and sound and mostly intact, however, she deemed it alright to disappear with Lance; as as everyone else seemed to have paired off with their own. She would approach them later, when they had had time to rest, to talk about what their trip out. 

Allura's room was up the stairs, but she took it slow, tightening her hold and easing him up every step until they were finally at the top. And then it was a short trip to her room. 

Her room was similar to Hunks from the outside. She had old blankets and fabrics sewn together and covering her cell. It wasn't to block out the light like it was for the light sensitive zombie, however, but instead to give her a sense of privacy and security. On the inside, however, it was much more decorated. Which, was partly Lance's doing, now that he spent most of his nights with her. They had a mattress, one of the bigger ones that Lance had convinced Hunk he absolutely _needed_ so he would help him drag it home, and a desk that she herself had asked for the year prior.

Pens were surprisingly easy to come by in the apocalypse, but paper was not. Allura made sure she procured as much paper as she could however, so on her desk she could keep records of everything in Altea. It was the only way the community stayed so organized, which in turn, made it so successful. 

She had her own little book shelf, with a few books and trinkets that Lance always liked to gift her with. Beside the shelf was a mirror that was cracked, but usable. On her bedside table, which consisted of an empty fruit crate overturned, the label worn away, there was a small knife that she didn't feel safe without having close by, as well as a small light. 

"Almost there," she mumbled, helping Lance to take the last few steps to the bed. And slowly, she helped maneuver him down, until he was settled down on their plush comforter. And then she quickly moved to turn on the light, so they both could see.

As soon as Lance was settled down, he shifted and settled his rifle and bag next to the bedside table where Allura’s security knife was. The safety was on, of course, but it needed a good cleaning just as much as he did. Lance gave the moon in his stars a delightfully bemused look, before he worked his jacket off of his shoulders. Princess tumbled into his hands, and nimble fingers undid the leash from his belt loops.

He left it attached for easy grabbing in case she spooked and bolted, but let the kitten out to explore the bed. Green eyes were wary of Allura, someone new, but she seemed content to sniff and smell, and explore everything.

And then, Lance exhaled a long, tired sigh.

They’d been constantly traveling for two weeks, working on little rations of food and water, because they’d been out longer than planned and Princess was a baby and had to eat too. He and Keith both had lost a couple pounds- Hunk had tried his best, but after this many years, there wasn’t much canned food left in close areas to scavenge. Especially with Hunk as battered as he was. He knew Hunk was ravenous too. If Lance’s leg hadn’t been bothering him like it was, he’d have put aside seeing Allura for the time being in order to help him.

But, Romelle had seemed to have her eye on him. Lance was pretty sure she had a thing for Hunk- and it was sweet and cute, and yeah, his buddy was dead, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a hella fine piece of ass to look at. If it wasn’t for the fact they’d both basically friend-zoned each other within a few hours of meeting, Lance had little doubt that he’d probably have taken a ride on the Hunkmobile once or twice. He absolutely didn’t blame her for liking him- especially since Hunk was literally the biggest cinnamon roll. Mostly. He could be an angry cinnamon roll too, and that’s when it got spooky.

Slender fingers removed his shirt, and he tossed it down at his feet.

Allura turned, and her eyes immediately landed on the dark skin of Lance's back as he lifted his shirt above his head. More accurately, she was staring at the loss of mass. It wasn't much, not like Keith, who had more muscle weight than Lance and therefore was far more dramatic, but it was enough to make her heart feel heavy inside of her chest. 

He glanced up at Allura, and gave her a lopsided smile. His navy eyes glittered with exhaustion- a crack in his usual jovial mask of constant goofery. He could relax with her though. Just like he could relax with Hunk, and with Keith when Keith didn’t need Lance’s mask to make him relax and unwind. 

He was letting her see him as he truly was; exhausted and aching. 

“As much as I want to lay down and sleep for ten years, I haven’t bathed in like, two weeks.” He made a face, and stuck his tongue out. “That’s nasty, and I really don’t wanna do laundry again. It takes way too long to dry these blankets. Gonna get naked- and maybe wipe down with a rag. I’d say shower, but, eh, I really don’t feel like taking the stairs again.”

It had taken entirely too long for him to walk up the stairs, even with her help. He hurt. He ached.

"You could," she told him. However, Allura knew Lance better than that. He wouldn't feel comfortable enough to rest unless he was at least cleaned up. Apocalypse or not, Lance still took pride in his appearance and cleanliness. Allura returned a half smile in his direction as she walked around the bed, amused by him expressing his need to feel clean, and ever careful of spooking the kitten who was curiously exploring her new home. 

"Here," Allura murmured, moving to take her spot before him, "let me help."

Lance didn’t even lift himself off the bed fully to divest himself of his clothing. His hips lifted, and he rocked his weight onto one of his arms as he shucked off his pants with Allura’s help, leaving his boxers for the moment. He might have said naked, but he forgot- ass sweat was nasty, and hell no, he wasn’t getting it on his goddamn side of the bed.

The flex and pull of his muscles was only slightly more noticeable than before. He had lost a couple pounds, but not a whole, dreadful lot. Lance was a lot of wiry muscle built on top of a frame built for running, or swimming. He’d never have a body like Hunk, designed with pure, brute strength in mind, or Keith, something of a mix between Lance’s sprinter form and Hunk’s bashing power. But that was fine- he had enough muscle to hold the kickback of his rifle, and to haul his skinny ass up a tree. That was enough for him.

Also to hold up his weight, or Allura’s, when the need arose. Because that was definitely a thing, and, well, wall sex was fun in _theory_ , but more of a _workout_ in practice.

As his pants shucked down off his ankles, Lance’s leg was brought into light.

Days of walking on it after their mad and frantic dash away from the horde and the freakishly big brute that had hurt Hunk had done his leg exactly zero favors. The bruise was still shaped like a bite mark, but the bruising had spread up his shin, looking like someone had hit him with a sledge hammer. His leg was swollen, irritated, and clearly in need of a brace, and elevation to reduce some of the inflammation of irritated skin and muscle.

The memory of the incident made his tanned face pale almost immediately, and Lance looked briefly like he might be sick. His stomach soured, remembering how close he’d gotten to having a face full of zombie vagina and to becoming infected.

She had hesitated the instant her eyes landed on the deep and gruesome bruise on Lance's leg, a soft gasp rattling up her throat and knocking her world right out from under her feet. 

It hadn't broken skin, thank God, but she could see the impression of teeth. Lance had gotten too close. Instead of limping home, he could have _died_. Allura could have lost him out there. The knowledge of it almost had her sinking to her knees, the reality and the terror of it heavy on her back and in her head, ears roaring with the sound of her thundering heart beat.

Her own skin paled. "Lance…"

“S-so,” he stammered for just a second, forcibly clearing his throat as he wiggled his legs out of his pants and slowly lifted his limbs to work on removing his socks without utterly fucking himself over pain wise. 

“So.” His continuation was stronger. “We learned that if a shambler is old enough, and you’re fast enough, that their teeth can’t get through denim. It bruises like hell though. Still, this isn’t really much. Keith’s arm looks nastier, and his head is a mess where he got clobbered by knowledge, and Hunk’s chest is like… _Urk._ ” His gagging sound is theatrical, because they’ve all seen worse than pulped ribs, and that’s the truly sad fact of the world. “His chest got pulped pretty bad. He’s gonna be on resting duty for a couple days. Thankfully, I think we’ve got someone else on our side now that’ll help keep an eye on him. Romelle- I saw her come out with you guys. I think she likes him- and that’s good. It’s good that someone is opening up to him, y’know?”

He’s babbling and he knows it- he doesn’t really want to focus on the fact that he admitted to nearly getting bitten, or the fact that he’s covered in scrapes, bruises, and his leg is possibly broken, and their primary scavenging team was almost completely disabled in one, horrible trip into the city. At least no one died.

She and he both knew it; he was babbling to avoiding the truth. Allura couldn't. And she felt the burn of tears at the corner of her eyes as she shook her head. "Lance, please..." She was asking him to stop running. 

Lance licked his lips, which were dry. He was a little dehydrated- all three of them were. Hunk had given them everything he had that wasn’t infected, and Lance had to share with the kitten, and Keith had been concussed, so Lance had covertly shared with him too because water was important. But the extra days out, because Lance couldn’t walk fast enough and Hunk couldn’t carry him with all of the mess of his chest, it had cost them pretty good. 

Sure, it was only a couple days over the expected time, but… When everything was planned exactly so, and things went wrong. Well. There was only so much padding room you could make when you had to bring supplies back.

She reached out as Lance failed to continue to talk and ran her fingers across his jaw with a touch that quivered, and lowered herself to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. Soft and sweet and lingering, Allura closed her eyes and breathed him in, sour smell of grime and sweat and all. Because grime and sweat meant he was _alive_. Here with her and truly _okay_. 

Lance met her kiss with gentle gusto, his mouth mouth moving tenderly against hers. He basked in her touch, distracted by her tenderness and the ferocity in which she seemed to need to conform that he was okay.

Allura needed to take care of him, even though all she truly wanted was to hold him close and feel his heart beat and lose herself in how alive he was, she recognized that he was probably in need of water, and a brace. His leg was swollen and painful to look at. 

Her fingers moved, slicking back his hair so she could give him a fierce kiss to his forehead. Hunk got pummeled, Keith got his arm broken, and Lance... Somehow she wasn't surprised. "You three are always such fools," she whispered against his skin, before pulling away. 

Princess saved Lance from babbling much further by crawling into his lap, and making him squeak as she shoved her bony baby paws into his left testicle, all claws included, in her attempt to get his attention. He hoisted her into one arm, and cupped himself with the other hand. She’d done that a lot to him already, when she wanted to venture out but didn’t want to get close to Kosmo.

Allura was amused by how Princess seemed to take advantage of the spot she vacated, making herself at home in Lance's lap. She gave a playful cringe when said kitten seemed to step on Lance's sensitive bits, and deemed that punishment enough. How many times had she scolded Lance, Keith, and Hunk about their reckless plans? Far too many to count by now. 

“Anyway...” He gave a soft, awkward cough, well aware he and his friends were much more than fools, “it was a long trip. I’m glad to be home, Allura.” He smiled up at her. “And I know pets are harder to keep, but… I couldn’t just leave her. I found her at the pharmacy, and it wasn’t… a good place for a kitten, y’know?”

Lance hadn’t told the others that he’d found her huddled by the corpses of her siblings and mother, still trying to find comfort and warmth among her family. He didn’t know what killed them or why- but their stomachs, bloated as they were and hard like rocks, said that they probably died by eating something they shouldn’t have. House pets suffered the most in the apocalypse when people abandoned- or just… _died_ from the hordes.

He couldn’t count the number of houses he’d broken into that had pet skeletons from people just… leaving their animals behind, locked where they couldn’t get out and find food on their own. It made him sad and angry and he hated it more than anything. Thousands and thousands of animals, doomed to die, all for nothing.

Princess gave a tiny mew, and reached up to pat his chin.

Well. One more wouldn’t die. She’d be safe here.

"Yeah, I know," she said. She knew how much Lance cared about animals, how much it hurt him to see them left behind. She knew how impossible it would have been for him to even consider doing such a thing to a young kitten.

“I… I kinda got ahead of myself when I named her.” He admitted sheepishly, and bounced her gently. She made a soft _mrrrrp_ noise, and waved soft toebeans out at Allura instead. The soft pink of her toebeans stood out against the dirty gray of her fur. Lance offered her out to his love on a whim, and the kitten didn’t seem to mind. “I hope you don’t mind. I know it flusters you when Coran calls you that, but… I dunno. I just… I saw her, and I thought, ‘I can’t leave this little princess here’, and, well… I brought her home.”

She blinked as Lance offered the kitten to her, and, without really thinking, she accepted. Wrapping her arms around that soft fuzzy body and cradling her close, she felt herself meeting those gorgeous green eyes and her heart all but melted instantly. 

"Hello," she greeted, and with a slight flush to her cheeks, "Princess." 

Yeah, the pet name did tend to make her flustered at times, but... Coran had always called her that, ever since she was little, and the world had been calm and full of such life. It was a sweet thing to call her, and it reminded her of better days, even if a part of her she thought she was far too old for it now. 

Lance watched her with their kitten, and felt his heart swell. Allura was good with animals- it had taken him days to get Princess to warm up to him and Keith, and Princess still hissed at Hunk. A few seconds with the kitten in her hands, and Allura had their little Princess docile and soft like putty in her hands.

"I think it's a perfect name for her," Allura replied, letting her fingers scratch under that delicate chin. Feeling the deep and surprisingly strong rumbling purrs against her finger tips. "For, I imagine, she'll be quite pampered living here with us."

“She will be pampered.” Lance agreed, and his cheeks darkened with a blush as he watched her. Lance wasn’t sure how he was going to explain to Allura that his personal bag had cat clothes loaded into it too. Well- several generic pet clothes, but still, they’d be for Princess all the same.

She gave a few more scratches before gently lowering Princess back to the bed. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I have to take care of your father." 

When she was put down, Princess gave a displeased squeak, and went to go curl up on one of the pillows on the bed. She patted at the trails of her leash, but didn’t seem bothered by Allura moving around the room.

Thankfully, all jail cells came with a small sink and toilet. That meant that Allura didn't have to go far to find water. She grabbed some clean socks she had gotten to protect her feet from the cold cement, and turned them into a pair of rags by running the water over them and soaking them nicely. Once thoroughly soaked through, she came back and stopped in front of him a second time. 

"It's going to be cold," she warned him, meeting his gaze before gently pressing the sock-turned-rags to Lance's chest.

“Nah, it’s not too cold.” He gave her a lopsided smile, and, because he couldn’t resist, a wink. “Besides, if I get too cold, I can always cuddle you after, right?” Despite his flirtatious bravado, Lance was docile as a lamb as the cold sock hit his skin. He shivered just slightly, his teeth sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, but he held still so she could tend to him. 

As far as things went, this was pretty normal, actually. Allura worried when he went out. It was rare when she went out, but more common when he went out- so her worry over him was normal. And, by letting her fuss over him to her heart’s content, he let her calm herself down and reaffirm that he was okay, alive, and mostly healthy.

It also let him calm down and ground himself with every gentle touch, no matter how chilled the cold socks turned to cleaning cloths were. Grounding himself was good, very good. It let him remember that he was safe and sound at home and no one could hurt him here. Well- no one outside the training ring.

Allura hummed, amused. "Right."

And it _was_ grounding, quiet and gentle in the space that had become theirs. A secret little nook that was a light keeping the darkness at bay. A tiny little bubble of paradise where Allura and Lance could just be together. And as the rags gently caressed his body, Lance felt more and more solid and real, until her inner panic at the thought of losing him faded and all her worries over the past few days faded into the soft hum of just being together. 

“Back on the whole pampered kitty thing.” Lance hummed, shifting to lean back a little on the bed so that Allura could run the cold cloth more down his chest. The sweat and grime was wiping away- his skin was feeling… Cleaner. Much cleaner. Not as good as a shower, but still better than nothing, surely. 

Allura wordlessly accepted the invitation he presented her, wiping down his stomach, and his neck, gliding that rag over his shoulders and arms. It wasn't easy with him sitting down, but Allura wasn't about to ask him to stand, not on that leg that looked like it needed far more than just a few days of elevation. 

“I actually- god, shit, okay.” His face flushed, and it lit his skin all the way down from his cheeks to his chest. “I actually got little itty bitty pet clothes from the pet section for her. She’s got- she’s got her own little dresses and cute stuff in my bag, so she doesn’t have to wear the harness all the time.”

His friends hadn’t even fussed at him over it. Though, he’d poised himself to pitch a stink over it in the first place anyway, so, he realized that there wasn’t really any chance for them to fuss. Hunk had been right to worry about them getting her home- but they’d ended up with a dog too, and they’d still managed to make it.

At least they hadn’t gotten Hunk a critter- there was no way they’d have gotten home with three animals and three people.

His flush had her smiling. She could feel it against her fingers, skin as warm as the sun kissed sand of the beach. "Wow," she murmured. "She's going to be the best dressed of all of Altea."

Allura couldn't help but giggle, though, deep down, she was charmed. How could she not? Lance had not only brought home an adorable little ball of fluff, but, he had brought clothes for her to wear too. And, it did not escape her attention that he had cradled and carried that kitten home safe and sound; sparing her water and food at the cost of himself. 

It made her wonder. Would that nurturing instinct translate to a child? He was already good with the kids here. Allura had seen him before, playing and comforting them. Some days, she would stand off in the distance just so she could watch him. Admiring the way his eyes and smile seemed to brighten like the sun glistening off ocean waves.

Lance would be a good father, she thought. And her heart always skipped a beat. 

That was a topic for another time... 

Lance’s leg was beginning to throb from him not walking on it, and from it constantly dangling down off of the bed.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strider Notes: Split it into one last chapter for ya’ll. This is officially the last chapter of WMUH. There's so much more I'd have liked to write, but... You can't control your writing muse, and as a writer, I know the feeling other authors get when they've let their readers down. It's gonna take me some time to flesh out the chapter outline, but once it's done, I'll post that next and let you all read it.
> 
> For now... Fare thee well, and... thank you for staying with us so long!
> 
> QUESTION FOR LAST WEEK: If you could take 'normal holiday wear' for one particular holiday and normalize it for everyday wear, what would it be? For example- if your favorite holiday is Easter, it could be Easter bunny ears every day.
> 
> Strider Answer: Halloween, absolutely. I'm making wings rn, that are gonna be 10 feet of feathers from tip to tip. If i could wear those every day and show off the hard work it took into glueing every damn feather, then FUCK YEAH. Also, cosplay would be more socially accepted.
> 
> QUESTION FOR THIS WEEK(S): In honor of this being the last official written chapter, I'd like everyone to think back over the chapters, and think about what you loved the most about the Humanity Series as a whole. That includes WMUH and IIOE. It can be a scene, it can be a specific character, it can be how a certain aspect of the story was written- it can even be how something made you feel, good or bad.

With the growing discomfort in his leg, Lance finally moved, making a pest of himself as he got comfortable and hooking his bad leg up onto his good knee to give it some elevation since he couldn’t really lay down until his back was clean. It _hurt_ \- he hissed, because _ow_ , there was pressure on swollen and inflamed bruises that were cradling his damaged bones, but it felt better than it throbbing with his heartbeat while he’d left it dangling down on the floor.

It would do even better when he got the chance to throw it up on a bundle of bunched laundry or something. Anything to elevate it, really.

“I need to clean the little pet clothes,” Lance continued, lifting an arm when beckoned for scrubbing, “and then they should be okay for her to wear. I mean, I obviously won’t be cleaning them now- but like, maybe sometime this week? You know I’ll go stir crazy if I sit around for too long. Laundry duty sucks ass and swallows, but it’s better than just sitting around.”

Lance didn’t do sitting around. He didn’t do ‘doing nothing’. For all that Hunk never laid still and relaxed, Lance was everywhere too, checking on people, making sure needs were met, reporting back to Allura about everything that needed to be updated and checked on.

And Lance didn’t want to bother Allura all day, any more than he did Hunk. Hunk was with Romelle right now though- and Lance, more than anything, wanted Hunk to make a new and lasting friend, and that would be harder to do if Lance was hovering around him and pestering him to hang out.

Hunk had dozens of acquaintances, but Hunk didn’t have friends. Not in the same scope of friendship that he had with the original group. Lance wanted his _hermano_ to have that- and to have that, or more, he needed time without Lance being a third wheel.

Plus, he had just spent almost two weeks roughing it in the wild with his brother and his rival turned friend. He kinds wanted some space.

He shifted, and Allura did too. The bed sunk a little as she settled down beside him, diligently wiping down his sides and his arm pits when he lifted them for, before leaning to run the soaked socks down his back. As she did, Allura listened, making a thoughtful humming sound.

She did know. Everyone was like that now a days. Keeping busy was their way of blocking out the shadows that tried to sneak up on their memories. For many, it was their way of guarding themselves from the dark and painful truth of the world they were living in. Keeping busy meant keeping _sane_. 

Though, Allura worried about Lance going up and down stairs. 

"I could always give you the logs to go through," she offered, watching him bob his head in an approximation of acknowledgment. 

It surprised her a little that he wasn’t leaping at the chance to get to look through the logs. Logs that she never let _anyone_ else touch, save Hunk, for whom without there would be no logs and records at all. After all, no one else was willing to risk their lives for paper like he did. Most everyone else only reported to her, and she updated them herself in her clean hand writing before bed. However, she trusted that Lance wouldn't screw them up, and, it would also keep him resting, which was her ulterior motive. 

Or at least, she hoped he wouldn't screw them up _too_ badly…

Lance was quiet for a time, letting Allura scrub him as necessary and helping her when she’d let him. At least she’d let him clean his parts free of sweat for a moment- swamp ass was real when one was marching for miles and in pain. 

Speaking of pain- eventually the throb in his leg began to bother him more, and even elevating on his knee didn’t help. The increase in pain, he thought, was coming from the fact that he was home and safe, and his body was finally starting to relax with every gentle touch from the woman he loved. His legs were, at that point, the last thing that really needed to be scrubbed clean anyway, and that was going to have to be done very gently.

“ _Mi amor,_ ” His voice cracked, his throat parched, and he ran his tongue across his lips to try and wet them again, “I need to put my leg up. It’s throbbing- and boy, it hurts now that I’m not running on my ‘I need to get home’ fumes. It feels like my heart is throbbing in my leg. So I’m gonna just… call this good for my top half,” Something he rarely did, but sometimes road weary exhaustion coupled with pain could be reason enough, “and let you have your way with my leg. Just… _Se amable, por favor_. It’s very tender- a nice, gentle touch would be welcome. I know you need to clean it before it goes in the splint, or Pidge and Hunk both will rant at us about it.”

The sound of his voice cracking pulled her gaze towards his face. Her brows pinched. He was really hurting, and tired, if he didn't even want her to finish. "Of course," she whispered, slipping off the bed. Allura tossed the socks in the sink before rummaging around the room, gathering a blanket she could spare from the front of her jail cell, and some clothes, so that by the time Lance was lying down, she could gently slip them under his leg. 

Allura plopped them down on the mattress as he shifted about, and then went to the sink. She squeezed the sock and wet it again, before joining him, trying to be careful as she got on her knees and gently shuffled her way to his feet. 

Lance had made a show of stretching himself out on his side of the bed. Pain or no pain, he still looked good, even having lost a couple pounds of bulk. Plus, humor made everything better. He rolled his head back, propped up on his elbows in a gentle slant, and gave her a slow smile as he got comfortable. And then, because he could, he gave her a cheeky click of his tongue and cheesy finger guns.

When she pressed the sock to his leg, it was the uninjured one first, gently running over the muscle. Her gaze strayed down to the terribly dark bruise on the other leg, before flickering her gaze back up to his face. Though, the worry faded when she found herself gazing at a lopsided smile and finger guns. His attempt at humor was not received well. 

Allura made a face. "Very sexy," she drawled. "I love it when you’re immobilized by pain."

Princess ruined his attempt at looking like a suave, sexy Latino off of a magazine when she promptly vaulted onto his shoulder from the pillow, and began vigorously grooming at his eyebrow.

Allura's dry expression softened, and she laughed. "Thank you, Princess. I think I need all the help that I can to fix this mess," she teased.

Princess didn’t respond much to Allura, but she did begin cleaning one of Lance’s eyelids, forcing him to close it against her tiny, rough tongue.

Lance just puffed up his cheeks and pouted. “Well, immobilized by pain just means I’m all yours to play with.” He teased her. He was thankful though, that she was gentle. Even the shifting of her on the bed hurt his leg, though he’d been through enough shit in his life to manage to keep quiet about what was paining him. Really, he’d been hurt worse before.

A lot worse, actually. They’d all, at some point or another, had an injury that should have probably killed them if they didn’t have a safe place that they could bed down and heal in, and a doting zombie who could go hunting to feed them. Honestly, Altea was a blessing.

Her touch had been gentle before, but as she shifted to his injured leg, it became even more so. Almost a feather light touch as she started up his calf and shin first. Leaving the swollen and tender skin for last. "I might stop by the mess hall for some ice on my way back up from the med bay," she murmured. 

Ice, and water, and something for her beloved to eat. And, already, she was thinking about using her status here to get into the locked medicine cabinet to give Lance some reprieve now that he had revealed to her just how much pain he was in. If Hunk wasn't so injured himself, she might have asked him to look over his leg. As it was, Allura just had to put trust in herself that she could handle bracing it for him.

Lance was quiet as she cleaned his injured leg, but it was telltale that even the feather light touch to his flesh was agonizing. His knuckles creaked on the bedding as he made a tight fist, his breathing speeding up, but he didn’t say a word about how much it hurt. He didn’t need to, he thought- she couldn’t be any more gentle if she wanted to actually get him clean.

“I-” His voice cracked again, and he coughed to clear his throat, which disturbed Princess and sent the kitten nesting down on his chest, “I’d love some ice. Honestly, that was one of the best things Hunk did, turning one of the spare freezers into ice storage. Maybe something to eat too. Just...” His skin blanched. “No fruit leather please.”

He needed to get past the whole ‘nearly had zombie vagina in his face’ thing first, and that was going to take a while for him to do. Mostly, it was just going to take him doing some talking, maybe with Hunk, and then slowly working himself back up to it. He couldn’t stop seeing fruit leather as shambler parts though.

It would just take time.

She was exceptionally careful as she ran the cloth over that dark and burning hot skin. And, she went over it once, before deeming it clean enough to toss the sock on the floor and wrap one of her hands around his ankle. Supporting his leg gently as she tucked the clothes and blankets underneath him; elevating it. 

The elevation of his leg did numbers for his pain levels. Mainly, it increased it first, and he plopped himself back flat on his back, and lifted his now free hands to scrub his fingers through Princess’s fur as he relaxed. A couple breaths had the sharp throb of pain easing, and Lance eventually relaxed his torso enough to peek up at her.

Her thumb idly caressed his shin when she finished, giving him a look of soft concern. "Will you be alright if I went and gathered a few things, _mi ceilo_?"

Lance gave her a soft smile, and wiggled his toes. His toes didn’t hurt, and wiggling them really wasn’t that much uncomfortable. “I’ll be okay.” He promised, abandoning petting the kitten on his chest to lift his arms up and cross them under his head. He looked nonchalant, like he was just relaxing in bed- but his leg told a different story.

Even elevated, it looked nasty, but it would take a long time for the swelling to go down. Hours, days- probably a couple weeks. He’d be going crazy before long, but that was the way of the world.

The dark circles under his eyes also told their own story, but more one of a prey animal forced to keep going under dire circumstances. Hunk had made sure they slept on the way back, as traveling at night was always worse than during the day, even when they had a zombie escort. But a full night’s sleep was hard to get when they were all hurt and on edge about getting attacked suddenly. Lance had not slept well at all. He was tired, hurt, hungry, and hella thirsty- but mostly, he wanted to sleep.

“I might nap a little.” He admitted finally. “I’m really tired. It wasn’t the best walk back, and all of us were stressed, so we didn’t sleep well. Well, minus Hunk. Hunk doesn’t sleep, but even with him on watch, we were all on edge. Running into a variant kinda made us all a little spooky and skittish.” It also likely hadn’t helped with Keith’s sleep schedule that Hunk had been growing hungry. Lance was okay with Hunk’s zombie mechanics, but Keith was less okay with some aspects of it.

"I can imagine," Allura replied. Especially when that variant was able to crush Hunk as easily as it did. To her, Hunk was impenetrable; a solid mass of undead muscle that kept her safe and alive over and over and over again through the many years it had taken to develop Altea into the community it was today. To see him so easily crushed... It shook her foundation too. She couldn't imagine how scared Lance and Keith must have been.

“Hurry back, okay? I’ve missed you a lot, Allura. Two weeks was torture with just Hunk and Keith for company. I mean, I love them, I do, but I love you more.” His lip poked out, and he pouted at her. “Plus, I _crave_ cuddles. I am starved for them. Hunk gives good cuddles, but Keith is as cuddly as a cactus with mange.”

Keith was actually incredibly cuddly when he was asleep and cold- but Lance was sworn to secrecy, or he’d be stabbed in the liver. After what he’d seen Keith to to Hunk, Lance didn’t doubt that Keith would do it to him. Well, okay, maybe not stab him, but probably something as equally horrible. Like shave off all his hair in his sleep.

Slowly she pulled her hand away, and then slid off the bed, trying not to jostle his leg. Allura made her way around, just so she could lean down and press her lips gently to those pouting ones. "I'll give you an extra special serving of cuddles when I get back," she promised. 

Allura pulled away, and gave the sleepy kitten a smile. "You keep watch over him, Princess." He murmured, running her fingers gently through fluffy fur, before starting towards the cell door. 

Lance watched her go, and curled around Princess as he watched his love leave him to rest.

* * *

 

Allura was not gone long. 

She had started in the med bay, piling her arms with the supplies she needed to take care of Lance's leg, and then made her way to the kitchen. It was Hunk's domain most of the time. However, that didn't mean other survivors didn't come and go on their own, which mean there was always a lot of oatmeal going in and out since it was a common staple and they had it in metric tons of surplus. It wasn't much, but it was something, and she grabbed a bowl and filled a canteen with water before finally grabbing a towel and filling it with ice cubes from their designated ‘ice freezer’.

When she finally reached the room, the splint supplies went down on her desk. Everything else came with her, resting on the bedside table and floor as she slowly sat down beside him. 

Princess woke first, blinking up at Allura from Lance's chest. Allura gave her a gentle smile, before reaching out to run her fingers over Lance's cheek. 

She had seen he was tired. The dark circles were puffy and deep under his eyes. However, to see him so deep in sleep only after about a half hour of her being gone was still jarring. It hurt her heart to know she was about to disturb him when he looked so peaceful and content. In fact, for a moment she debated it. 

Lance needed his leg mended though, which meant she needed him awake at least long enough for that. It would be nice to get food and water in him too, but she wouldn't force it. If he was that tired, then she would let him sleep. 

"Lance," she called, her voice just above a whisper as tender and sweet as the fingertips gently running through his hair. "Wake up, _mi_ _c_ _ielo_."

Lance was known for being a notoriously heavy sleeper on the best of days, even when he was exhausted to the point of collapse. However, most of the people at Altea developed the ability to sleep lightly and wake ready to fight in an instant, and it become something more active when they had to go out for supply runs. It was sort of like a switch that flipped on and off when they went out of their safe haven. It took a couple days of being back for it to kick off, usually.

It was a survival technique that most remaining humans had evolved in order to survive the hordes of the undead that had ran the world into the ground.

The only way to survive in the apocalypse was to be hyper alert of your surroundings, even while asleep. Even if Altea provided a safe haven for most, everyone who had lived this long still had the instinct to jump at even the slightest of sounds.

The Latino was no exception to this survival tactic- though it said something of his exhaustion levels that it took her speaking for his body to react, when he should have jolted awake the moment that he was no longer alone in the room.

The whisper and touch had his wiry muscles tensing, exhausted blue eyes snapping open. His hand was up and gripping hers in a second, his chest expanding as he sucked in a sharp breath. It took him a moment to register just who it was touching him- living, warm flesh, soft hands, warm eyes, not the cold, grasping fingers and gnashing teeth of the dead.

There was a split second where her breath caught, where the dark specter wailed in the back of her head with a flash of hands and hauntingly sinister smiles. It brought with it a sharp jolt of tension and panic that almost had her yanking her hand back, were she not aware that this was _Lance._

He had never done that before. It was incredibly telling how that two weeks worth of traveling had been for him. And it was little wonder. Allura had to scold herself for not thinking that Lance would have been stressed and hyper-vigilant. Of course, even her softest attempt at waking the other had been met with a reaction that was instantaneous. 

A soft breath exhaled out of his lips, and his iron grip on her wrist softened immediately, turning from a caging grip into a caress, and he turned his head gently to nuzzle into her palm with an apologetic hum.

He always tried to be gentle with her, and he was always careful not to grab her too hard or too forcefully. It had taken a long time for her to be okay with touch- but still, sometimes, being grabbed too hard could be scary for her. She didn’t seem to have a problem with Hunk, but Hunk was inhumanely cold. Lance was warm- and when his hand was locked like a vice around her, it wasn’t unlike the men he and his best friend had saved her from.

Lance never, ever wanted to make her feel like that. It had taken her so long to feel safe with them- so many days where she’d flinched and lashed out at him in fear after what happened to her. He never, ever blamed her for what happened to her, nor for how long it took for them to build trust with her. The things they’d done to her- rape, torture, terrifying her with hordes of the undead and using her as bait- it wasn’t something he would ever blame her for.

The moment was over for them both almost as instantly as it had begun. Allura released a slow breath, her tension bleeding out of her the moment that iron grip turned into the soft brush of fingertips, the shadows in her mind giving way to light as he turned into her touch. 

Her loving expression had faltered when he jerked awake, but now it was back, and perhaps even more radiant than before. 

Lance was always so considerate and understanding of her and her triggers. He may act like a fool, but his powers of empathy almost bordered on the supernatural. And he always tried his hardest to think of her, and what she needed, proving himself more than once that he could be her support, and that she could be herself with him and feel safe. And she loved him for that. 

While she appreciated his caution, however, there were moments where she worried his caution of her overshadowed his own fears and vulnerabilities; like now. And Allura wanted to give back and prove that Lance could rely on her for more than just the hope and leader of Altea, but as his lover.

One blue eye watched her gently, and he made sure that despite his nuzzle, she knew that she wasn’t being caged anymore.

“ _Lo siento, cariño._ ” Lance mumbled into her palm. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that. M’ still on edge, and you startled me. Was a little deeper asleep than I thought.” 

"It's alright," she told him, her voice as soft as a summer breeze, and her tone forgiving. "I should have been mindful that you haven't had a proper chance to relax just yet."

“No harm, no foul.” Came the easy going response. He shifted, and one hand held onto Princess as he carefully hauled himself to sit semi-upright. He settled her in his lap, ignoring her grumbling, and gave Allura a faint smile. “Guess it’s leg time? And-” He took a sniff, “I smell oatmeal, so food too.”

His stomach was at that half way point between hungry and nauseated, though the nausea came from lack of food and exhaustion. The two together were generally one hell of a whammy- but, like many, hunger and nausea was something they’d gotten used to ignoring.

“Thanks, love.” His smile was warm and bashful as he scooted himself over, and straightened his bad leg. His shin ached, but thirty minutes of elevation had actually done a bit to help with some of the swelling.

Lance got himself comfortable again sitting upright, and he gave her a lopsided and warm smile, before he tilted over to scoop up his oatmeal from the bedside table. 

"Here," she mumbled, helping him reach for the oatmeal by handing it to his outstretched hand. It wasn't much in the bowl. Allura was no stranger to the feeling of going without food for more than forty-eight hours. She knew something light would fare far better then anything grand for her love.

He wiggled his toes, and spooned a mouthful of food into his maw. “Mhhm. Leg is all yours to tend, sweetheart. Thank you- for all of this. You’re literally the best, y’know that?”

"I brought more than that," she replied, and moved to find her supplies. She set the bandages down on the bed beside her, as well as the canteen and the bags she had grabbed from the freezer. 

They didn't really have ice packs anymore. They weren't hard to find, but often they suffered the same debilitating fate of decay as the rest of the world around them. But, some river water put into a rare ziplock bag and wallah, it was as close as they could get. 

Really, she had debated just bandaging his leg when he woke up. However, she knew the ice would probably help the swelling go down even more, as well as help with his level of pain. 

His compliment had flattered her only for as long as she realized she was going to have to put her hands on his obviously very tender leg. And with it came guilt knowing that she would have to hurt hum, even if she knew it didn't make sense.

Allura swallowed, and reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small pink tablet that she had signed out to herself. She handed it to him, while moving the canteen so he could access it without effort. "Hang in there for me, _cielo_. This isn't going to be pleasant."

Lance had kept calm and quiet while she’d been preparing everything, but he took a break from eating his oatmeal to accept the tablet and lean over to get the canteen. He switched it out for the oatmeal, aware he should pace himself and work on hydration as well as nourishment. Lance glanced at the pill, perusing it thoughtfully and realizing he had no idea what it was.

He shrugged and tossed it back. Lance didn’t have any known medicinal allergies, and if the pain pill knocked him for a loop, then, well, good for him. If he couldn’t feel it, then he was good to go. And, with food and water in his system, the likelihood of it making him sick was extremely unlikely.

“I’ll be okay, _cariño._ ” Lance smiled at her warmly, licking his lips and taking another greedy guzzle of the water in the canteen. He capped it with a pleased sigh, and then swapped it again for his oatmeal. “Don’t worry about me.”

Allura gave an incredulous scoff. "Of course I know you're going to be okay. Even still," her voice grew softer. More sincere. "I'm going to worry about you." 

Carefully as she could, she rested it on top of the swollen and angry looking skin, grimacing because she knew the sudden cold probably had to hurt; even if it would eventually feel alright. 

"I'm sorry," she said, applying only enough pressure to keep it from falling.

It did hurt when she pressed down with the ice- and he nearly choked on his next mouthful of oat meal in his efforts to avoid letting her know it as he bit down on his tongue. Lance had to swallow his mouthful in a rush, and he coughed to clear his throat as he discarded his bowl for the moment. His fingers tightened in the sheets, and he made a face.

“Ow.” He breathed. “Okay, yeah, that, hah, that stings a little. But the ice feels good?” The longer the cold was on it, the more he started to relax, the tightness fading from his fingers as the pain went from somewhere around a ten, to something closer to an aching four. It was tolerable, the cold numbing it. It was likely good that Lance didn’t have much in the way of body fat, so there wasn’t much body insulation that they had to go through in order to get him to be numb from cold.

He flexed his foot and his ankle slowly under the pressure of the ice pack, and found that the colder he got, the less everything along his leg hurt. It wasn’t so bad, really. Though, he knew the cold would wear off eventually, and the pain would be back in force, it would give Allura plenty of time to wrap his leg.

Her guilt didn't dissipate until she felt the muscles and his body start to relax under her touch. Still, she held firm, giving only the occasional caress of her thumb against his ankle from where she had propped his leg up on her lap. 

Navy eyes lifted to hers. His gaze softened, and he nodded, giving her the go ahead to start working on his leg. As he did, a shiver tore across his frame, chasing up and down his torso like a lightning bolt. The chill was creeping up, his skin breaking out in goosebumps.

"You missed Trixies birthday," Allura spoke up suddenly, talking just for the sake of talking. She had learned that for Lance; it was his defense mechanism. He talked to distract himself. So she would give him that. Something else to focus on so he could relax even further into the cold. 

"She was very cross," Allura continued, giving Lance a playful glance. Lance had promised the young girl he would be back in time, and she remembered sharing in her distress about how late he was, and what that meant. "You're going to have to make it up to her after you rest."

Allura kept talking as she began to wrap up his leg, talking about mundane things like how Altea was doing and about some of the other things Lance had missed. She never expected an answer, though, it pained her to know that Lance was so silent and clipped. It spoke measures of just how tired and in need of rest he was. 

Lance appreciated the talking and the chatter, truly. It kept his mind busy, while she worked on his leg. Though, there was still only so much she could talk about- and as she slowly petered out of topics to ramble about, he roused himself enough to take over.

“One good thing about having no plush padding is I get numb super fast,” He said, babbling so she didn’t worry about him getting too cold, “and the numb stays super long.” One bad thing, one unspoken bad thing, was Lance got chilled super easy. Without an insulating layer of body fat built up to keep him warm, it was easy for the reedy Latino to get chilled. Muscle could only insulate so much, though his shivers did usually help warm him right back up to where he was supposed to be.

Still, Lance didn’t need her worrying about that too. He didn’t have a fever- that he could tell- and other than his leg, he was perfectly fine. He’d warm right back up once he settled into bed with her and got comfortable again.

Once finished, she kept his foot on her lap and gave him an amused smile. She could see the rise of goosebumps all over his flesh. "Is that your way of asking me to join you?"

Allura gave Lance's ankle and shin a few more gentle caresses, before she slowly lowered his foot and shifted her weight. Carefully walking her way up the mattress on all fours before lying on her side. "Excuse me, Princess," she murmured, to which the kitten gave an annoyed huff and moved, allowing her to rest her head on the pillow beside Lance, carefully wrapping her body around his. 

Reaching out, her fingers were soft as feathers across his cheek. Her eyes searched his face, before settling in his own; growing misty with emotion. 

Compartmentalization was how one survived in this day and age. Taking care of Lance first and foremost had been her top priority. Now, however, his leg was bandaged and he was safe, and the emotions she had shoved aside were coming back with a vengeance. A week's worth of fear, and pain, and longing that had her face scrunching up in pain.

"I was terrified I'd never see you again," She admitted in a soft whisper.

“For a time, I was afraid I wouldn’t be here anymore either.” He replied, turning enough to take her flush into his arms. He rubbed his nose gently to hers, and closed his eyes, breathing in her fresh, clean smell, the floral scent of the shampoo that she washed her hair with. “I- god, I was terrified when that thing sank her teeth into me.” He admitted. “Hunk was calm though. Probably the only reason I didn’t lose my head right there, honestly- him and Keith both.”

“Yeah?” She breathed, her fingers trailing from his cheeks and temples back up into his hair. It was sweaty and unwashed, but still relatively soft. Frankly, she didn’t care- she just needed him, washed or unwashed, right there holding her. She needed to know that he was safe, and she just… needed to hold him too.

“Yeah.” Lance nodded, swallowing dryly again. “Hunk reminded me that a bite wasn’t the end of the world, y’know? He’s dealt with that stuff before, after all.” It would mean losing his leg, but better a leg than his life. “I mean… We’d just have stopped our trip there, and we’d have come back. He said he’d finally get to put his college degrees to use.”

“That’s right.” Allura exhaled a soft noise, and nuzzled herself up under his chin. “He’d have made you a leg.”

“Mhm.” He held her and shivered softly. “You know he would have. Hunk doesn’t sleep, so he’s got all the time in the world. He’d probably have it done before my leg even healed, y’know?” He made a sheepish sounding laugh. “But uh, we don’t have to do that. My leg is just… kinda sore. No bite, nothing broke the skin. I just got… well… y’know.”

A soft huff of a laugh brushed her breath over his skin, making the darkly tanned surface break out in pebbles of goose-flesh. “Violated. I remember.”

“Yep.” Lance sighed. “Allura? _Te quiero mucho_.”

“I love you too, Lance.”


End file.
